Incandescence
by shilhouette68
Summary: The method he chose to fulfill his mission was to acquaint himself with a certain artistic female. DeiIno.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Incandescence  
**Pairing:** DeiIno  
**Summary:**The method he chose to fulfill his mission was to acquaint himself with a certain artistic female.

* * *

**CHAPTER I**

Crap. Just _crap_.

Ino was late. She ran through the ill-lit streets of Konoha non-stop, almost tripping because of her own carelessness. It was a starless night, but the moon was high up, shining at its brightest. It illuminated part of the sleeping village, making shadows dominate certain areas. It was a nice and cool night, which was fairly rare at that time of the year. Each house she passed had no lights on, had curtains down, and the front door tightly shut. The village was so quiet it was scary. It felt like a ghost town.

And Ino was frustrated. She wasn't supposed to be out here, running and worrying about the time.

She was supposed to be in bed, sleeping soundly like the rest. Her backpack packed with necessary items for her _real_ mission tomorrow. She should be feeling a soft and cool breeze caressing her face, fluttering her hair even, as her head rested on a soft pillow.

But she was pulled into _this_.

(They should've left her out of it.)

It was the sort of assignment that made her pack a flashlight, a decent amount of kunai and shuriken in her holster, and a bit of medical supplies. And later she would be given a wireless radio for her to talk into.

Night watch.

Her shift was from 02:15 AM up to 05:33 AM, making her have approximately three hours of sleep before the escort mission she had with Shikamaru. She wouldn't be in this if Tsunade-sama hadn't sent all the other shinobi on high-ranking missions with such little pay. She was randomly called to the Hokage's office yesterday, not saying why, together with Tenten… or was it Hinata? Kiba?

It didn't matter. But she knew that at least one of them were there.

Around ten, or less, over-qualified chuunin filled the office and she felt small. Tsunade-sama had explained the details of the night watch after the last chuunin arrived. Word was, Amegakure was planning a raid in certain villages and Tsunade-sama wanted to make sure Konoha wasn't on their list.

After the meeting, Ino had stayed.

"_Godaime-sama, have you forgotten that I have an escort mission?"_

"_No, I haven't."_

"_Then why–"_

"_I didn't have any choice. The lack of shinobi due to missions this week is unfortunate. Plus, you are one of few ninjas available for tomorrow night."_

"_Can I at least have a decent shift then?"_

"_That's not up to me. Ask Genma about that. He's your head."_

And just sadly, it didn't work out. She came in just a tad bit too late to plea for a comfortable time.

"Available my ass."

She furrowed her brows at her own comment and turned a corner. She was greeted by a handful of people that have just finished their shift. She ran past shinobi that were yawning, half-asleep, stretching, and complaining that there was really nothing to worry about. She could see the big gates from there and sighed. Ino saw the people there disappear one by one as they headed on to take patrol. It didn't take long for her to arrive by the guard-stand, panting, her hands on her knees, and not forgetting to take a short glance at the clock hanging inside.

Two minutes late. No big deal, right?

"You're late."

_Not_ right.

Ino turned to look at the owner of the booming, grumpy voice. She stood there, staring at the most pissed-off face she had seen for the past couple of days. The woman's forehead was creased with lines due to the explicit frown plastered on her face; it made her look twenty more years older than how old she actually was. She wasn't thin, and she wasn't fat either. Her expression annoyed her––a look of superiority blended in with a pint of disgust and impatience, she looked ugly––but she didn't care that much. The woman tossed her the radio, not caring if the wires were tangled.

"Thank you, _ma'am_…"

Tone polite, sarcasm obvious, choice of words dubious.

-----

She was half-right. Kiba was the other one who got called up into this. He walked along side her, conversing about several things that came to mind.

"So, you have a mission tomorrow?"

"Yeah. And it's at eight in the morning."

He chuckled a little. "You've got a rough schedule there, Ino."

She sighed contemplatively. "By the way, where's Akamaru?"

"Left him at the gate. Head chuunin said he'll be more of use there."

Then there was an ear-piercing screech followed by static coming from both their radios. Then it was backed up by a loud scratching noise––it seemed to echo out like a waterfall crashing against the rocks down below––then by a message broken down by bad reception.

… _th–s is Gen… ch–l… trees… –moose and cart full… I re–eat… caref–…_

Then the connection ended. Or was disconnected.

"Did he just say… _moose_?" Kiba asked, looking at the radio incredulously.

"That's what I heard," she had her eyebrows slanted downward, "and they expect us to remain undetected by enemy-shinobi with these obnoxious things." She exasperatedly whispered.

A look of amusement crossed Kiba's face then it was gone.

He thought her jaded expression made her look cute.

So cute.

-----

Ino now treaded the northern outskirts of the village. Kiba had left her a few minutes back, his scouting was routed to the west of the village. She shivered every now and then whenever the wind became too cold for comfort. She skirted around trees that blocked her way. Several tall, wild flowers brushed against her calf, making it feel itchy. A sudden chill lashed her arms and she trembled at the contact. Ino settled herself down and brought out her cloak. It was khaki in color, but the darkness of the night made it look brown, and it had a hood. She put it on and proceeded.

At quarter past three, her eyes began to feel heavy. Her vision had become hazy due to the sleep-waters her yawning had ensued. She walked unfocusedly. Her bones began to shut down and her muscles ached for something soft to lie on. She needed rest, _sleep_. Her legs felt wobbly and unsteady that it made her sway as she walked. Guess the stimulant-pills didn't work, she thought unconsciously.

She yawned for the umpteenth time.

_God, I'm sleepy._

She tripped over a rock––she wasn't sure if it was a root of a tree or a rock––but not hard enough to make her fall and she cursed herself for not being attentive. She squinted all around her, trying to find something big enough for her to sit on.

She found a grey rock, with green moss creeping up underneath, positioned blamelessly beside a tree. (Typical for a forest to place something expected there.) She heaved a sigh of tiredness and sat comfortably. She had her back pressed against the trunk of the tree and her head leaned back. She heard her neck crack a little, and strangely enough she appreciated the clear, usually sickening to her, sound. Ever so slowly, everything she saw faded to a renewing black, and drowsiness took her captive.

_Just… for… a whi–_

A gust of wind, that might as well be a mini-tornado, nearly knocked her off of her sitting position. Her eyes widened, but were still marked of sleep deprivation, then squinted toward the direction of the wind, her hand shielding her face. Then it stopped.

Everything was as they were. Nothing happened.

She wanted to (well, _needed_ to) check what that was all about––it was protocol, every suspicious jerk in the bushes, rustle of leaves, sudden outbursts of wind, she had to check it out––because what just happened wasn't very likely to occur, but her body refused to move. It was weary and asleep all the same. It pleaded for her to just stay there and rest for at least a few minutes.

She did so and fell into a light sleep.

Meanwhile, a handful of miles from her, Deidara stepped off his clay bird.

-----

_That smell…_

She stirred.

… _so familiar…_

She breathed.

… _burning._

Her hand twitched.

_Fire. Not far… from…_

Her eyes shot up.

Ino turned her head toward the smell of combusted wood. She fumbled her pack for the radio, forgetting that it was strapped on her hip. She got out the flashlight instead and twisted its head so that the light came out dimly, but bright enough for her to see where she was going. She took hold of two kunai in her right hand just in case. She followed her nose.

At first, she thought of going back to the guard-stand and informing whoever was in there. But then again, Akamaru was there, and Kiba was not that far from where she was, or so she thought.

And it could just be other chuunin warming themselves.

She hoped.

She wasn't of the Inuzuka Clan so it was pretty hard to lead herself to where she wanted to go. She was running again, the scent fading whenever she took a wrong turn, then becoming more pronounced as she neared the source of ignition. Her foot thudded against the hard––though splotchy with mud––ground, disrupting some of the sleeping animals under several bushes. She would stop often and check if she was on the right track.

She saw a faint glow of bold-yellow and bright-orange a couple more miles away, ten minutes, or more, later.

She smiled.

She perched up on a tree and continued from there, jumping from one tree to the other.

Dark purple clouds overlapped the round white disc hovering up above.

-----

Stealthily, Ino disappeared from one branch to the other as she approached the vibrant glow, her flashlight now turned off. Her heart pounded in her chest, her hand gripped hardly on the pair of kunai. But she wasn't afraid, just excited. She could feel the adrenaline coursing through her body like bullets. She leapt from the trees faster and soon enough a bonfire greeted her eyes. It illuminated her face a little, but was still shadowed by the thick leaves of the trees. Colors bounced off her face and it painted her cerulean eyes.

She squatted and she scrutinized the area. There were no other sounds except the crackling of wood under intense heat, the endless hooting of nearby owls, and the crickets' eerie rhythm. It was a pretty small camp––there was neither a tent nor was there a sleeping bag––and the place emitted an earthy scent that mixed with the wafting smell of fire.

There was someone there.

From the looks of it (his body build), it was a man.

He sat against an old, sagging tree. He had his left leg propped up, his left arm resting on it, and his right leg stretched toward the fire. He wore a dark blue shirt, that was partly mesh, and pants. He had long dark blond hair, a part of it tied up and the rest flowed down his back. His face was hidden from view. His shadow danced like some sort of performance he was supposed to watch and probably enjoy. No matter how hard Ino tried, she couldn't sense his chakra.

She felt the rush of blood and the surge of adrenaline again. Her hands felt dead cold and it gripped the kunai in her hand even harder. She hardly felt herself breathing.

Something moved.

_He_ moved. A very swift movement she barely recognized it. He threw something… several somethings…

… at her.

She was able to dodge it, no sweat, but she was too surprised to move carefully that she fell off the branch into the opening, where he could see her clearly.

Ino's cloak hung from a partly chipped off bark of the tree, unable to protect her fallen form from numerous shards on the ground. Her hands and right elbow dug into several sharp pebbles and some of it sent her palm, and the base of her elbow, into a bleeding mess. The limb of said elbow hurt from the severe impact of the fall and the side of her hip hurt as well. She had bit her tongue and could taste blood in her mouth. Her body was partly paralyzed from the pain that travelled up her arm and then spreading down her side. Both the kunai she used to hold were impaled on the ground, but not before it nicked her by the forearm. Ino heard a smug _heh_ across from her and she looked at him through pain-slit eyes.

"Thought I wouldn't notice you, un?" He said, amusement lacing his words.

_Bastard._

She sat up, trying to ignore the numbing pain on her hip. She sucked the blood her tongue produced and she clutched her elbow that might as well be broken. Ino stared at his face, her eyebrows slanted downward, her expression angry with a mixture of pain. The fire illuminated him more distinctly this time: She saw a bleeding cut on his right cheek, his skin and ruined clothes dirtied by earth, and his arm full of scratches. She also noticed that he wasn't wearing a hitai-ate. His expression was unreadable and mute.

"Who are you?" she said bitterly and sternly, her tongue stung like acid had been poured over it. "You're within the boundary of Konoha. So unless you have some form of identification, I need you to come with me."

"I don't think you're in any condition to do that." He brought out his right hand that was previously concealed from her view; a kunai dangled from each finger. She saw a deep cut that ran a few inches above his elbow to a few inches below it. It was dry with blood.

The man, named Deidara (but she doesn't know that), knew that he was in no shape to fight. Not even this girl. He was too worn out from the ANBU ambush back in _what-was-its-name_ village. And if he was going to accomplish his mission in Konoha, he needed to blend in, make _friends_. And he knew he wasn't befriending her in any way. The Leader's stern voice rung in his mind:

"_You're there in undercover. _Don't_ make a scene, Deidara."_

He sighed.

"Deidara."

She looked at him, taken aback by the unfamiliar word. "Excuse me?"

"You asked for my name, right? It's Deidara." Now he prayed that she didn't recognize the name from any of the pages in the Bingo Book––last time he checked, which was about a week ago, he had no picture printed in the book, so he only had to worry about his name. The kunai that have been dangling from his fingers clanked together as he dropped them on the ground. He reached inside his pocket. "Here." He tossed it and it landed a centimeter away from her. Ino looked at it with a questioning look.

It was a card.

A travel permit.

From Iwagakure.

Ino's mind became troubled. She remembered the war between Konoha and Iwa and she immediately thought of him as a spy, and maybe Amegakure wasn't the one planning a raid.

Then again if he was a spy, he wouldn't have showed this to her.

And he would've most likely killed her by now. (Though he looked worn out from a previous fight, _looks could be deceiving_.)

"You're from Iwa?"

"Of the sort."

The bush to the left of Deidara moved…

… and _hooted_?

A giant white owl, something close to an owl, stood amidst the bushes. Its ears were shaped into a triangle and were long like streamers. It didn't have any feathers, or any lifelike distinction of an _owl_. Its small round eyes were pale and it bored through her, its head twitching to one side, and then to the other. It looked more like a sculpture brought to life. Deidara saw her agape, and his lips turned into an awry smile. Finally, she averted her eyes from the _owl_ to look at him. His attention was directed to the dark bluish-purple sky. She took note of his wounds.

"Do they hurt?" she asked, her voice meek and uncertain.

Deidara understood what she meant.

"Some do, some don't." He closed his eyes and rubbed his jaw with the back of his hand. His face was suddenly distorted by a look of discomfort then it faded. "Say, do you have medical supplies in that bag? This gash is killing me." He gestured to his left side where his shirt had been slit open and blood soaked the remainder of his shirt.

"Well, I'm a medic… sort of. I can take a look at that for you…"

"Oh, great then." His face was alight with gratitude, but was never minded. She thought it was the light of the fire, oddly illuminating his face.

Ino stood up, her knees felt _rusty_ for being bent too long, and sat down beside him. She gestured him to sit straight and he did. The wound was deep and the gap was wide and long. It was still fresh and the blood still seeped through in little amounts. She wondered how much blood he'd lost––and still live.

"I can heal it for you, but it needs to be stitched."

"Don't worry, I won't cry. Go right ahead." His eyes pierced through hers.

"What? No! You need to see a professional. I'm still training in the me––"

"Doesn't matter. A medic's a medic."

Deidara turned his head away, his hair shielded half of his face.

"Won't you prefer someone who _knows what he's doing_ rather than someone who _doesn't_? There will be someone who'd attend to you in our hospital." She explained. This guy's mind wasn't in tune with hers. She wasn't sure if she had brought any sutures.

"No. You'll do fine."

Hospitals were dangerous, he thought, for criminals anyway; and he wasn't just any regular criminal…

He was in Akatsuki.

-----

Deidara felt a lot better after she healed that gash. Her stitching stung, but it was done so carefully that afterwards there wasn't any pain. He asked her if she could take care of the other minor wounds and she agreed. She was now fixing up the torn flesh on his right arm.

"You know, you never told me your name."

"Oh. It's Yamana–um…" She bit her lip before she could say anymore, but he probably knew what her last name was now, what, with the Shintenshin no Jutsu known throughout several villages.

"Yamanaka…?" He said inquisitively, teasing.

She let out her breath, "it's Ino."

He smirked.

A _dangerous_ smirk.

"You shouldn't be giving out your last name just like that," he replied, "be more careful next time."

Silence engulfed the both of them. The forest was still, the wind had died. The moon tried to peek through the thick and thin clouds that partly covered it. Both of them heard each other breathing. Deidara's head was tilted back, resting against the tree. He had his eyes closed and Ino supposed that he was just as sleepy as she was a while ago. The scar on his exposed cheek was coagulated with a maroon lining. She couldn't summon up the will to ask him about the cuts and bruises he had, simply because he might've lost a battle and felt bad about it. He broke the silence.

"Ino."

"Yeah?" She didn't bother to look up at him but was forced to after he spoke again.

"Your chakra's warm."

She didn't reply and just stared at him semi-semi-stunned. "Aren't all chakras warm?"

"Well, kinda, but yours is different, un. It's…" he searched for the right word, "… nice."

She raised an eyebrow and went back to attending to his arm.

"Sorry for making you fall back there." He sounded insincere. His tone was flat and the words he uttered seemed like it was carelessly thrown together, and by accident it sounded sensible.

His apology fell on deaf ears.

Ino never replied.

-----

She came back to the big gates a minute before her shift ended. Akamaru was by the guard-stand, as Kiba had said, and she patted him on the head. The blond didn't come back with her, even though she had insisted on taking him back to book him in a hotel, so at least he could have a decent resting place. But he said that he'd be fine and he'll check in somewhere first thing tomorrow morning.

"_I'm too tired."_

She wanted to retort back, it was an impulse, but the words had fallen dead on her lips. She bade him goodbye and left.

She got her radio (which she couldn't find before) and placed it on the table where Genma sat, filing in reports. She took hold of a pen and got a piece of paper from a square-shaped bin. She began writing about what happened during her patrol. She stopped as soon as she was about to write Deidara's name.

"_Do me a little favor and don't say anything about me in your report. A squad will surely come here and take me to your village and question me, interrogate me… and all that shit _tonight_, un. I'll _introduce_ myself tomorrow."_

She submitted it and went home.

Her yawning came back.

-----

Deidara, bored and hungry, threw another stick into the fire. His left hand chewed clay and formed it into a bird. Crushed it then formed it into a spider. A butterfly. A swan. Never detonating them. He shouldn't. His mind was juggling every possible way he could accomplish his mission, escape unharmed, and not get tracked down.

He squished the clay in his hand.

_Ino, huh?_

His thoughts rested on her. The blonde who had no idea who she had just met. The blonde who'd just healed an S-class criminal within the Akatsuki…

"She's an option."

An arrogant smirk crossed his lips.

Dawn came up just by the horizon and it tinted the sky with a pinkish-beige.


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER II**

The late-afternoon sun was nowhere to be seen in the skies of Konoha. Gray clouds and faint flashes of light were to be noted above, accompanied by rain pouring down at a steady pace. Umbrellas were raised up and there were some people running toward places where they could take refuge against the fairly harsh downpour. A screen of translucent white engulfed the vision before the eyes, making images look quite blurry, due to the soft drizzles blending in with the more pronounced droplets of water. The soft pattering of the rain cut through the mumbles of the people in the streets and it seemed like a buzzing-hum of a lullaby to a child.

Deidara was at the Shoda Inn, lying on his bed, his arms folded behind his head, and his eyes closed. A miniature sculpture of his C2 Dragon walked around the room and a clay eagle rested on his chest––most probably _sleeping_ along with him. He was wearing a grayish-white shirt and a pair of light brown, baggy shorts. His golden hair was spread behind him, free of any hair tie, whatsoever. The droplets of water knocked on his window, but he didn't pay any attention to it.

Mind anyone, he wasn't asleep.

He had been staying at this inn for the past two days. He got pass the guards who were on duty, the morning after the night he had met Ino, stealthily and very easily; veiled his chakra and let his clay bird blow a humongous gust of wind––making them blinded for a moment––then he sneaked in. The villagers he crossed paths with favored him with stares and odd glances; his clothes were torn, he had smudged blood stuck on him, he looked like an outsider…

He very much appreciated that he wasn't minded _too_ much (the point when little children would cry because he looked scary). Ino had washed some of the blood from him last night with her white handkerchief––it had the combining scent of mild perfume and sweat––wet with the water from her canteen. She had also mended his cuts and had dispersed the purple bruises he had. His hair was smeared with a little dirt, especially his long fringe, and the scope on his left eye had never felt so loose.

When he first tried to check in, the innkeeper had refused to give him a room because of his filthiness (he was an inappropriate sight to be seen at the inn and he looked like he didn't have any money with him, according to the bastard). _You'll scare all the other guests. Please leave._

He drew his wallet out from his back pocket to show him that he did have the money, he'd pay, and he won't _scare all the damn guests away_. The innkeeper had strong doubts but let him stay anyway––after he checked Deidara's money of authenticity, of course. He warned Deidara that if he made trouble, he was going straight out on the streets.

He glared at the innkeeper as the man futilely attempted to threaten him.

R-15 was his assigned room. The inside was decorated with shades of blue and green. The view out the window wasn't breathtaking, but it had a decent lookout point of a park. Besides a dresser, a wardrobe closet, a bedside table with a lamp next to an alarm clock, a small sofa, and a bed, the place was pretty much empty. _The people in Konoha are officially, artistically blind, un._ Pein telepathically talked to him after he renewed himself, telling him more about his task at hand.

He slept the whole day after that; he lied on his side and hugged one of the soft, comfortable pillows.

He knew he dreamed, but it was all a blur. (A white canvas blotted with red.)

Now he was on his bed, his plotless thoughts hung in blank space.

Deidara's eyes slowly opened and he sat up. The clay eagle on his chest flapped its wings and perched on the wooden frame at the end of the bed, looking at him.

He felt hungry.

The low rumbles of his stomach reminded him of what he had for dinner last night and for breakfast this morning: A ham sandwich––the inn didn't serve meals, so guests had to go out to eat (Konoha had a lot of eateries so the innkeeper didn't bother). It wasn't because he didn't like the food, nor was it because he was sparing his money; he just thought that roaming a village he had no sufficient knowledge of was risky. Sure, he had no printed picture in the Bingo Book and people didn't know his name, but things like _what if_s existed. _What if_ someone––miraculously––recognized him? _What if_ people saw his hands? They'd surely talk about it. It would spread to the point that their Kage would know about it (people are generally talkative, he mused). Then an ANBU pair would be at his door, telling him to come with them; then he would be in question.

_"You're not from here, are you? Those mouths––not one person in Konoha has those."_

_"Please state your name, country of origin––"_

_"You look... familiar..."_

The mission would be in peril. And so would he.

He got off the bed and slipped his feet into the wooden slippers provided by the _service man_––the same man who came in his room when his clay blew up, asking, "Sir, are you alright?" with a funny and alarmed expression.

He went toward the mahogany dresser and took hold of his red hair tie. He stretched and turned it around his hair that ran down his back, the way he used to when he was still a terrorist bomber back in Iwa. He opened the door, grabbed the key that hung behind it, inserted it into the keyhole, and turned the lock. He stepped out of his room, the door closing with a dull mechanical click.

He went down the hallway and descended the stairs.

-----

The Yamanaka household was quiet. Inoichi was reading the paper, taking a sip at his tea every now and then. His wife chopped vegetables on the counter, making the knife land rhythmically on the chopping board. The smell of mushroom soup lofted around, mixing in with the trace of boiling tea. Outside the window, the dark clouds seemed to thicken and the rain blared against the glass, as if rocks were the one falling from the sky.

Upstairs in the bathroom, sodden purple clothes hung heavily on a chair. Steam was evident all around. The water dripping from the bathtub faucet plopped against the water contained inside the tub. Ino, submerged save for her head, enjoyed its hotness, perhaps too much because she nearly dozed off a couple of times. She was soaked when she got home from the escort mission just about an hour ago. She had been at the Konoha gates with Shikamaru when the weather turned glum and cried.

The man they escorted was some merchant who sold ancient artifacts and modern scrolls from different countries. He had a wagon full of books and small golden statues. He also had two backpacks filled with copper coins, carvings, porcelain decorations, and some herbal medicines. She believed his name was Ping––or something close. He came to the village a little over a week ago and did business: Traded his goods for other merchandises or sold his items to people. They escorted him to a small village––it had very few residents in it that some people considered them as a community of random settlers––down south of Konoha, where a native-looking group welcomed them. All in all, it took them two and a half days to escort the man and return home.

When she was all fresh and dried up, she would bring the payment and the mission report to Tsunade.

She got up and grabbed her towel that smelt of lavender and dried herself. She wrapped the towel around her blonde locks, raised it up (making it look like a turban), and put on her undergarments; then she placed on a white shirt––with a small gray oval printed just above her left breast––and loose, stale-orange shorts that went down just below her knees. She let her hair down and combed it smoothly, running her fingers along the road where the comb had parted the way. It emitted a rosy smell that filled the bathroom. She then blow-dried, combed, and tied her hair up into a high ponytail. She drained the water from the tub and left, her soaked clothes in her hand. The thick steam dissipated afterwards.

She grabbed the envelope containing the money along with the report paper on her nightstand. She went downstairs and threw her clothes into the washer. She proceeded to the kitchen.

"I'm going to the Hokage's office."

Ino's father turned. "It's pretty bad out there."

"Don't worry, I won't take long." With that, she grabbed an umbrella, wore her sandals, and went out the door.

The door closed with a careful thud.

-----

The rain was gradually coming to a stop and there wasn't any chill hanging about the streets. She held the envelope and the piece of paper close to her, making sure it wouldn't get wet. Water hanged at the edge of her red umbrella, new droplets of water from the sky pushing the others off. Her feet splashed hurriedly against the puddles lying around the streets, and sometimes the splashed-water would land on another puddle. A few of her family's customers waved her hello and, more often than not, made small talk, delaying her _delivery_ for a few minutes.

Deidara came out of the dango store with his umbrella––he _borrowed_ it from the man who was signing up for a room––opened first and then him sliding underneath. He ate the sticky green ball of dango off the stick he held and threw it in the trash bin. He had only eaten a satisfying amount (he was done eating in less than six minutes), not wanting stay out in public, without some sort of _alibi_, for too long. There were fewer people out––and wasn't that Ino?

She was on the other side of the street, her long light-yellow hair waved as she walked briskly. Her arm was tucked close to her (she must be holding something, he thought) and her face was… he was too far to see, but it looked pale. He hadn't seen her ever since their meeting back at the forest and he wondered where'd she been. She passed the Ichiraku Ramen.

"Oi, Ino!"

She turned. The voice was unfamiliar––and in a vague way familiar. A man was coming up to her with a not-so-much-of-an-expression dabbed on his face. Ino studied him, her eyes scanning and her mind processing. It took her a moment before she recalled who he was…

Blond hair, blue eyes––_eye_––hair obscured the left side of his face… oh, the similarities she had with him.

"Deidara…" she quietly said, not quite sure if she got the name right. "… -san." She added; she was sure that he was a few years older than her. The blond artist stopped beside her with his left hand raised and gestured into a wave. Ino's eyes slightly widened at the mouth situated at the center of his palm, smugly––it looked like it––grinning at her. Deidara saw where her eyes were directed at and remembered what he _had_ there.

"Oh, it's… heritage," he said with a sheepish smile, his hand now rubbing the back of his head. The smile made him look… young. (_Younger_, perhaps?) Was that the right term? And somewhat… cute, she thought.

"I-I see. Sorry, I didn't mean to be rude…"

"I don't care. It's fine." Again, he smiled, barely this time, just a slight curve at both ends of his lips. It was a reassuring one that felt so unreassuring. It contradicted _him_ on so many levels, for some reason. The genuineness held back. "You going somewhere important? You're in a bit of a hurry, un."

"No, not really. I was just going to give these to the Hokage." She showed him the envelope and the paper. "She wanted our mission report right away."

"Mission?" He said, dawning realization. "No wonder I wasn't able to find you for the last two days." Ino gave him a questioning look and raised her eyebrow.

"You," she started, "were looking for me?" She giggled. "Why's that?"

A sense of uneasiness travelled up his nerves. With the tone he used, it _sounded_ like he had been missing her… and it kind of gave off the wrong meaning. Her bright cerulean eyes scrupulously gazed into his electric blue one and he felt the awkwardness sinking into the situation, making him avert his eyes to the side. A large man walking past them seemed to have caught his interest.

"Um… well. You are the only person I know here," he was brushing his pointer finger against his cheek, "and I was hoping that you could show me around or something… like that, you know…?" His voice trailed off quietly. The discomfort he felt was probably showing on his face (his cheeks felt warm). He glanced at her and all he saw was the ghost of her previous expression.

Not deriding.

Not skeptical.

Sweet. And somewhat amused.

"Okay, I'll show you around tomorrow." Ino turned to leave. "Right now, I have to get these to the Hokage."

"I'll come."

They walked to the tower together as the rays of the sun, little by little, peered through the dark clouds hovering up above. The heavy drops of water later became a lagging, lingering drizzle.

"So, how's the wound I stitched?"

"You're a pretty good trainee, if I do say so myself, un. Mind telling me who teaches you?"

_Gaining your trust couldn't be any easier, Ino._

_----- _

Ino had a slice of bread bit in her mouth as she set the morning table. She was wearing a long, lean white polo (with a black collar) and a black skirt. Also, she had a blue apron on. Her long hair was neat and kempt; several strands of her pallid-yellow hair––near her temples––were pulled back and were tightly bound together by a black tie. She smelled freshly of newly bloomed jasmines.

On her right hand was a plate of shark's fin dumplings and on her left was a bottle of shoyu. She placed them on the table and prepared to boil tea. On the table were two plates of curry rice, a large bowl of soup, a loaf of bread, and grilled fish. Her father ploddingly came in the dining room, rubbing his sleepy-eyes, and took a seat. His eyes were closed when he felt-grabbed for a slice of bread and took a bite. He chewed sluggishly.

"The tea ready yet?" He yawned.

"Almost." She took a bite off the bread she was now holding.

Inoichi cocked his head to look at his daughter as she gave him a pair of chopsticks. Her hair, her clothes, the jasmine-like smell of her skin, _her clothes_…

"Why're you so dressed up?" Stern, paternal protectiveness could be hinted in his voice. "You have a date?" He continued, suspicion wrapping around his words. He never liked the idea of Ino going out with anybody he had never met; he didn't even like the idea of Ino going out with _anyone_. He had witnessed multiple chuunin around her age giving her flowers, and other chuunin giving her some sort of accessory––because they thought that giving flowers to a girl, who worked at a flower shop was dumb. He had been there, and he noticed that almost all of them broke into a cold sweat when he critically looked their way. One even tried to _win his favor_ by modestly saying that they ran a good business; and that he'd come everyday.

He came back twice or thrice, then never again.

Inoichi was happy with that.

Ino laughed quietly. "No, of course not." She heard a sigh of relief, "I'm going to show someone around the village." She went back to the counter and poured his dad a cup of tea, the sign of hotness rose from the brim. She took another bite off the bread, leaving just a small portion more.

"Will you be gone all day?"

"Probably."

A pause. Sleep was making him inattentive. "Just make sure you're here before night falls."

She handed him the cup and ate the remaining piece of bread she held. She took a glance at the clock hanging on the wall, beside a goofy family picture: It read 09:15. She was supposed to meet Deidara at the restaurant near the Shoda Inn at 09:20. They'd have breakfast there then walk around all day. Wherever their feet may take them (or wherever she may take them).

_It's almost time._

"Well, I'm going now." Ino untied the ribbon of her apron and placed it on the backrest of a chair. She laid a kiss on her father's cheek and stepped out of the dining room, grabbing her small shoulder bag along the way.

Inoichi heard the shuffling of shoes by the shoe-rack and then the gentle closing of the door.

The chirping of the birds entered his ear and then went out the other––not listening. He chewed his food and drank some of his tea when something suddenly popped in his mind. An idea? No. It was something he forgot to do. Something fatherly important, he thought.

Then it hit him, like a ball that bounced off his head and was now rolling back to the thrower to hit him again.

"I forgot to ask if she was going with a boy or a girl…" He rubbed the bridge of his nose, "ah, mornings."

-----

Deidara stood by the restaurant's entrance, leaning against its wooden sliding door. A gentle breeze fluttered the massive amount of hair that covered half of his face and kissed his cheek. He wore a hooded shirt and brown pants; his hair was tied back like how it was yesterday. His hand played with the money and the extra hair tie inside his pocket, the coins making a coppery sound as it collided with another coin. Little boys and girls were all around, playing tag, hide and seek, and marbles. His head was inclined toward the broad sky, drinking in the cool homogeny suspended millions of feet from the earth. Cirrus clouds dusted the blue sea above. It was a close call yesterday, he thought, as he walked toward the Hokage tower with her. He didn't expect that she'd remember what he last said before she left him at the forest.

"_So, did Tsunade-sama meet you?"_

"_Uh… yeah. She did."_

"_Hmm. Did she tell you where to stay?"_

"_What––do you mean?"_

"_You're from Iwagakure, right? And since Iwa isn't allies with Konoha, she might be keeping an eye on you. Oh, sorry, I didn't mean to make Iwa sound like such a bad place…"_

"_Don't worry, Iwa isn't anything special to me, un. People have their say."_

"_That's not what I meant, Deidara-san."_

"_It still doesn't matter, Ino."_

She didn't ask about whether he went to the hospital to get his injuries checked or not (she must've thought that it was common sense on his part)––mainly, to get the stitch checked. And if she did:

I didn't go because it might be too much for my budget. _I'd pay for it. The treatment for wounds is cheap._

Oh, yeah. I did go. _Then, why are you out here? I'm sure they wouldn't let you out of the hospital if they saw that gash._

He wouldn't be able to reason out too well.

A flock of birds flew across the sky. The clinking of his coins continued.

"Eh… you're early."

Deidara looked to his right and saw Ino walking towards him. Her face was of slight surprise, of inconspicuous disbelief. He smiled slyly.

"You are, too, un." He said, taking in her appearance. "There's a minute left… or two…" His voice diminished as he talked. His eye rested on her dainty face, free of any kind of cosmetic.

Natural.

She looked _damn_ pretty, he absently thought. He managed to catch her fragrance and it intoxicated him. He felt a sudden urge to nuzzle her close and take in the birth of her beauty. Fresh. Ephemeral.

Fleeting. Its birth would die soon.

"Men are usually late."

"Well, I'm not like usual men, now am I?" A smirk played at the corner of his lips. "Shall we go?" He offered her his left hand. She was about to take it when she saw its mouth grinning at her––telling her that it would lick her hand as soon as it made contact with her flesh. She grabbed his arm instead. She saw his smirk. _Surreptitious bastard_, her mind playfully acknowledged.

And together they walked in.

When they had a table, Deidara suggested that they eat a heavy breakfast. Ino happily agreed to the thought.

Menus lied flat at the center of the varnished redwood table and they each took one. He didn't exactly know what to order since he wasn't familiar with Konoha's dishes, so he said he'd take whatever Ino was taking. That way, he wouldn't be gagging later. He was sure she had taste. _No doubt._

"Just order anything. I'm sure you'd like it." She retorted, ensuring him that he wouldn't regret doing so.

He stared at the menu he held, having second thoughts. The names of the food looked appealing, but.

In the end, he ordered salted noodles.

Something about her made him do it. No, it wasn't the subtle, persuasive effect she gave off. It was more than that. _Much_ more.

He came to the conclusion that it was actually _her_.

-----

They shared a few laughs as they ate. Deidara convinced Ino (after much probing) to tell him about herself. She didn't say much; she told him that her family ran a flower shop just down the street and that she often took charge of it. There were also times when she would be in the hospital, helping out.

"I see. You seem pretty busy." He drank a bit of his orange juice; the taste was sweet and sour altogether.

She managed a small smile, it was forced but he didn't notice. Her lips looked soft from where he sat, and they probably were. She paused for about a minute, not wanting to say anything more, not because she didn't trust him (he was fine so far), but it was because she didn't really know him yet, and giving out facts just like that was like holding a flag that said, _COULD BE KIDNAPPED FOR RANSOM!_

She tried to divert the question at him. "What about you, Deidara-san?"

"What about what?"

"Tell me about yourself." Her eyes were warm and welcoming, and the longer he made eye contact, a sense of comfortableness washed over him. Not entirely, just partly. That feeling felt alien, out of place. Her lips were pressed together, looking softer. But then she spoke. "Did you come here to take a vacation? To sightsee?"

"Me? Kind of… anyway, there's nothing interesting going on in my––"

"That's what I told you a while ago," she pointed an accusing finger at him, "don't get smart with me, mister."

_Cute._

"Alright, alright." A defeated sigh brushed past his lips, mixing in with the rest of the carbon dioxide composed in the air, inhaled then exhaled. He'd tell what she wanted to know (there was no use arguing about it). About his work, family, and maybe why he was such a wreck the other night…

He would require her trust if he was going to use her, and in order for him to do that, he'd need a cover story and an appealing personality, right?

It wouldn't be his fault if she would fall for it. _No, it wouldn't. It's her problem._ He had organized his plan accordingly when he was on his way to Konoha and all he needed was someone to play the fool.

She was unlucky.

He'd start out by befriending her, flooding her knowledge of him with lies.

Nothing but lies, Ino.

Then he'd unobtrusively extract information from her.

Deidara almost felt sorry for her, though. _Almost_.

She didn't deserve to be exploited.

-----

They walked side-by-side as they exited the restaurant. The sun greeted their eyes and its warmth stroked the minimal of their exposed skin. His hand would sometimes brush hers as she led him toward remarkable places, a few leaving Deidara nearly awestruck. She told him where to find the best bar (that served the best sake), clothing store, weapon store, and the best place to relax––or to watch the clouds in the case of Shikamaru. They headed for it.

It was a small park that could pass as a mere overgrown garden with picnic spots and a pond. An old and bulky Mahogany tree stood at the left side of the place. She said that the tree had been standing there even before Shodai Hokage built the village. The villagers believed that there was no way that that tree would die, save for it be burned, cut off, or uprooted. _Like anyone would do that._

A wide pond with a few white ducks and water lilies sat at the opposite side of the tree, rippling and glistening. Flowers were evenly scattered around and the grass was trimmed. There was another tree that stood at the furthermost end of the area, a tree house hidden beneath its thick leaves. A bench or two was positioned near the pond.

"The air is so fresh here, don't you think?" She took a deep breath and the wind caressed her face, "I advice you to take your girlfriend here when you're on a date." A grin decorated her face, but he perceived a shadow of sadness––no, sadness was too strong and was the wrong word to use. Nostalgia, perhaps. It was restrained and kept in well, not meant for him to see, but he did anyway. It didn't quite suit her, he thought.

"Oh?" He said in a slightly teasing manner, crossing his arms and looking at her knowingly. "Would you accept if I asked you?"

Her grin was instantly gone and she looked at him, utterly confused and unsure.

"I don't think so." She placed her hands on her hips making her shoulder bag sway a little. Her mood changed into something lighter and (was it him?) a light blush powdered her cheeks, caught off-guard by his sudden response.

She took him near the Hokage Mountain next. He looked at it, bemused of the impression that the people of Konoha really appreciated their Kage. Back in Tsuchi no Kuni, the Tsuchikage only used villagers and shinobi as pawns for taking over different villages. The Tsuchikage executed people who disobeyed his demands. Deidara wasn't any different from any other villager, he hated their Kage; hated Iwagakure itself.

Rich assholes bitched at lower people like him (he assassinated a handful of them), their Kage mad for control… there wasn't any artistic relief from there. It was all about power; it was all about that bullshit that never got Iwagakure anywhere, no more no less. His art never got any marvel from there, no recognition. That place reminded him of a certain Uchiha.

He made sure that the village was in shambles when he left: Houses set ablaze, the Tsuchikage residence exploded, and his clay bird detonated at the center of the village. He sat at a quiet distance as he watched everything become bathed with bright, fiery colors. That was the day Akatsuki came to recruit him.

When they were a mile or so away, he triggered a massive explosion from behind a large boulder that overlooked the village and it came tumbling down on _everything_. It was a murmur, but he heard Kisame say, _what a kid_.

He stared at Yondaime's carved face. The huge cracks were visible from where they stood.

Legendary. He was the one who wiped Iwa clean of the shinobi sent by the Tsuchikage during the war, as he'd been told. The so––

"Ino?" A lazy voice said. It snapped him out.

Even without looking, Ino knew who it was. There was only one person who had that tone of voice, and she knew him very well. They turned to look at its owner.

"Shikamaru!"

He walked towards them, his feet making a scratchy sound against the dusty ground, a _troublesome_ look on his face, and he had his hands tucked inside his pockets. A yawn was about to escape from him, but it never came.

"What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be in the academy?" She asked.

"Troublesome as it is, Godaime wanted me to file her papers." He rubbed his nape. He stretched his back and the three of them heard a cracking sound, the sound a thick stick makes when it's snapped. A discreetly disturbed expression took over Ino's face.

He was looking at her tiredly (apparently, filing the large stacks of neglected paperwork took a lot out of him). Not once did he bother to look at her companion––_introductions are so troublesome, I'll be going now._

"Oh," She started.

_Here we go… what a gregarious woman…_

"Shikamaru, I'd like you to meet Deidara-san." Ino said, stepping aside so that he'd see him. "Deidara-san, Shikamaru."

For the first time, he looked at the blond. He noticed (who wouldn't?) the eerie similarities he had with Ino. Eye color, hair color and style, he trailed. There was something on the left side of his face, hidden by his hair; a glint of red, or was that blue––Shikamaru wasn't fazed, more like, _who cares?_

_I'll just hope he's not as troublesome as she is._

"Pleased to meet you."

"Likewise."

Deidara didn't seem _pleased_ to meet him.

They stared at each other for about three seconds––it was the longest three seconds of his life, which was so troublesome––and then he turned to leave.

"Well, I have to go," he finally yawned. "I'll see you guys later." He slouchily walked past them, waving goodbye with his left hand. He took about five paces then stopped. He looked back at Ino.

"Oh yeah, Ino. My dad said he'll be able to drop by for dinner tomorrow."

-----

The sky burst with bright-orange hues and faded, boring-purple. Deidara gazed up at the sky, admiring the burning expanse of air as it ended the day. The wind held a more detectable chill as it passed them for every lap. The silhouette of a crescent moon appeared above the Hokage Mountain and a few of the more-to-come stars faded into view.

"You knew him since you were kids, huh?"

"Yup." They were at the Memorial Site, sitting side-by-side on a bench. A flowerbed was on the right of Ino; white, orange, and yellow daisies stood on it. She picked some and started to make a little bouquet. Deidara looked at her hands as they worked with such deftness. "When you first saw Shikamaru… what'd you think of him?" She asked, not looking at him, the mildest of eagerness hinted. A curious atmosphere pulled them together.

"What did I think?"

As he stared at her, all he could sense was a longing for honesty.

"He looked…" He closed his eyes momentarily, trying to think of the proper term. "… like the essence of depletion… un." He supposed that it might've been a trick question.

He felt like he was standing on the thin line between a right and a wrong answer.

She stifled a laugh, "I knew it."

Dumbfounded, Deidara raised both his eyebrows. "Knew what?"

"Ever since, I've been trying to lecture him about his appearance," she said. "I told him that he should look, at the least, a bit animated or enthusiastic." She got up and went toward another flowerbed across from them. There stood several stalks of Baby's Breath and clumps of tiny white flowers. She picked a couple and sat down beside him again, placing her long shoulder bag on her lap. She snapped some of the stem to make the flowers just the right length and then she added them to the arrangement.

It was done well, he thought, eyes fixed at the flowers in her hand. The orange daisies were placed in the middle, surrounded by two white daisies and a minute one on either side. The little clumps of flowers were evenly positioned in certain angles; it had yellow-green stalks––the tiny white flowers weren't bundled enough for it to be covered––so it blended in nicely. She had talent, a beautiful talent to match a pretty girl. "They look beautiful, Ino."

"Thanks." She smiled. "It's a shame, though. It woul––ouch!"

He jumped a little. "What's wrong?" He drew close to her.

The hair near Ino's temples draped down on the side of her face, no longer bound by the hair tie. She tucked them behind her ear, stooped down, and looked for the probably snapped elastic. As she sat back up, he caught a whiff of her silky hair. The luscious fragrance of it made him drunk. She showed him the broken tie.

"It pulled strands of my hair when it snapped." The dying sun shaded her face beautifully. The bounced sunset light glossed her hair. Her lips––

"I have another one right here," he reached into his pocket and handed a red one to her.

"It's okay," she raised both her hands, rejecting his offer, "I can't fix my hair properly without a mirror." She had a bashful look on her face.

Deidara scooted over to her. "I'll do it then." He ran his thumbs through her hair, just above her ears, and gently enclosed it in his hands, dividing it into a half-ponytail; it felt soft under his fingers. The gap between them was reduced to two inches as he drew nearer, looking by her side to see if he missed some of her light-gold locks. His warm breath brushed her neck, oppugning the slight coldness the wind had (and the chill that travelled up her spine), and she couldn't help but shudder. She looked up at him, a small pink blush creeping up her face. Subconsciously, the day replayed in her mind like a memorized silent movie, every detail taken into account. She studied his face…

He had looks; she gave him that mu––"ouch." He pulled a little too much.

"Oh, sorry."

She hadn't seen that.

She didn't notice the charm he held––maybe because she didn't want to. Ever since Sasuke left, her heart had acted like a stone, unaffected by infatuation and she didn't know why. She wasn't heartbroken (maybe if someone had won him over she would, but he wasn't). He left.

Maybe she was disappointed that he wasn't the one for her––and yet he looked so perfect in her eyes. She was young and dumb, not yet knowing what true love was. Sure! Sasuke was perfect _outside_.

What happened to the inside?

The day still played in her mind, endlessly, as if trying to tell her something. It rolled and rolled until she finally saw how much of a gentleman he was. He listened to her, talked to her, just laid back and had a good time with her. She knew that Shikamaru also did that when they were out on their break, but he lacked what Deidara had given her so fully.

Interest. Attention.

He gave her all that.

He gave a damn.

She felt a surreal atmosphere daylong. His smile (it rattled her a bit but it captivated her). She hadn't noticed until now that he made her feel _there_. Just _there_.

She wasn't falling. Hell no. _Too soon._

But slowly. Very slowly, she would, like a snail trying to run. She couldn't feel it, anyhow. Not yet.

_Not yet._

_----- _

It was 06:15 PM and they walked along the lonely streets of Konoha. The orange outbursts of light were now surrounding the setting sun and blue-black clouds now spanned the sky. Streetlamps were now turned on and people were closing up their stores.

A blush was on her cheeks as he walked her home, still recalling how close he was. _But he just helped, nothing special. Look at him; he's totally nonchalant about it._ They were silent for most of the way, having dried out every thing that could spark a conversation during the day.

When they were at her front door, Ino asked him if he'd like to come in and have a cup of tea.

"Thanks, but I'll pass, un. You must be tired, and I don't want to bother you or your family." He said, pointing at the sign that read: CLOSED AT 6 PM. "I'll drop by sometime."

"Sure. You're welcome anytime." She opened her door and waved him goodbye.

He left after that.

A boy, about the age of six, ran past him, chasing a balloon held by another running boy.

-----

Her father was counting the earnings from the flower shop business today when she went by the living room. He stopped her with the call of her name as she said _I'm home_. He looked at her strictly, his expression was of… _a father's_, if that made any sense.

"_One of our customers said that she saw you with _a fine young man_!"_

"_Who were you with, Ino?"_

"_Where'd he take you? So you_ were_ on a date––!"_

"_What was his name? Where's he staying?"_

Her mother emerged from the kitchen and was able to calm him down with his bombardment of inquiries, telling him that Ino was tired and he could ask her tomorrow. Ino had a glass of water before she went up to her room, saying she'd pass dinner and heard her father state, "We have a lot to discuss tomorrow, Ino."

Her door closed with a clack. She rubbed her temples, a mild headache started to form.

She didn't feel like it, but her body was shutting down. Her feet ached and her mind had been a jumble ever since that incident at the Memorial Site. She didn't even bother to change out of her clothes. The white moonlight passed through her window, casting a shadow of a big _t_ on her wooden floor. She hung her bag on a chair and plopped down on her bed, wrapping herself with two blankets. She let out a slow yawn and closed her eyes. The soft feeling of her pillow and mattress eased her to sleep.

She was out like a light in two minutes.

-----

Ino's mother scrubbed the sauce-tinted dishes in the sink. White foam encased her yellow gloves. Inoichi was writing a list of things needed for the flower shop. So far, he had written rose seeds, small pots, wrappers, and _ferti_ with a pen that produced sketchy-ink when his wife spoke.

"Who was it that told you she was with a boy?"

He sighed, annoyed by the thought. "It was Takawa-san. She said she saw them dining at the Yoriba Restaurant." And he could just picture them, too, laughing.

"Hmm…" She placed a plate in the dish rack. She took hold of a soap-ladened glass and rinsed it. "Did she tell you what he looked like?"

"Yeah. Blond hair." He tapped his pen on the paper, preoccupied with the thought and trying to get the pen's ink out.

"Is that it?" She turned to look at him.

"That's all she saw."

"Why are you getting so worked up about this?" She smiled. "She's fifteen, dear."

"She may be, but she's not ready for relationships. She's too young!"

"You're holding her too close." She placed two glasses in the dish rack. It made a clinking sound as they were placed beside each other. "And she never said she was going out with him, right?"

"I know, but these things have a tendency to develop." He proceeded to finish the word _fertilizer_, but the pen refused to give out ink.

"If it does," she started, rinsing a bowl, "she'll be fine." She finished, no questions asked.


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER III**

Sunrise.

The moon had sunk and the sun was coming up from the other side of the world, about three-fourths of it hidden behind the Hokage Mountain. Three local birds were flying around, searching for breakfast––the early birds got the worm. The high-pitched chirping of the little chicks that were settled in their mother's nest, echoed throughout the village, amplified by the quietness and the stillness of everything. A few birds perched on the electrical wires suspended by poles, looking down below at the dim streets, some at the horizon.

It was 05:53 AM.

_Tick._

Now it was 05:54 AM.

The morning air smelled lemony sweet. The lush green grass at the park swayed ever so slightly as the wind brushed by, making its presence known. A spider web, decorated with droplets of dew, clung between two bright-green herbaceous plants. A violet butterfly flapped its wings, its body rapidly falling then rising––in an inebriated manner––as it looked for nectar to feed on. Streams of light were now apparent. A rooster crowed, informing everybody about morning. Sunlight passed through the glass window of some houses (a little of it crept up on the faces of various people and they pulled the covers over their heads), blindly pushing off the darkness contained inside in one place.

A man wearing a green shirt opened the front door of his family's apartment, carrying a plastic container full of pre-cooked pork buns, and stepped out––first person out in the streets of Konoha almost everyday. He muttered how much his father was always cutting his sleep and then he yawned. He got to the their shop, fumbled for the key, and unlocked the red (nearly maroon) door. He disappeared inside and clicked on the lights. He started to heat the water below the bamboo steamer.

_Tick._

05:58 AM.

The sun was now beaming brightly, fully uncovered, and high up.

The violet butterfly fled from the orange petals of a flower and was heading for the pink one across, hungry for more of the sugar-rich liquid.

It was about to reach it when the droplets of dew on the spider web dripped down onto the grass (some refused to come off), and the web jerked from a vigorous movement. The butterfly hung in the air, thrashing against something thin and white––almost clear.

It was caught; captured; stuck.

Trapped.

It probably didn't see it.

The web's jiggling signalled the hidden, waiting spider that its breakfast was served––yum. It came out from behind a green leaf and crawled over to the struggling, violet-winged insect. It spun some of its silky, nearly invisible, thread over the butterfly to prevent any chances of escape. The spider was red and black in color, contrasting the verdure in the background. It neared its prey.

The spider started to gnaw at the butterfly, hungrily and greedily. The butterfly tugged at the silk, desperate for freedom as it felt the pain of its slender body being devoured. Some of the still-perched dew fell on the ground, off from the web, marking the soil with tiny dark circles.

With an enhanced hearing aid, the sound of ravenous eating could be heard; the sick crunching of an arachnid on an insect. The twitching of the wings of the butterfly continued for a little while and then stopped. It stayed there, wholly motionless, and the spider continued to eat with grim satisfaction.

_Tick._

06:06 AM.

-----

At around 08:30 AM, the spider had been hiding behind the green leaf once again, waiting for another victim.

For its next meal. An early lunch.

Music travelled out of the radio, filling the kitchen with a pleasant succession of sounds and notes. Water dripped from the faucet in uneven intervals. The clear liquid made a dull, flat sound against the stainless steel surface of the sink. Sunlight shone through the window and then quickly disappeared as a thick layer of clouds covered it for quite a long time.

Ino sat in the dining room, her arms folded on the table and her head rested on them. A glass of water stood beside her hand, the water inside serenely still and unmoving. A bowl of fresh seedless grapes was in front of her. Her left hand enclosed a small bottle that held aspirins scattered randomly. Her head was mildly throbbing with pain; it had been there when she woke up and it wouldn't shake away from her. At first she thought that maybe she was just terribly hungry (her mind lacked the energy to be awake) because she skipped dinner last night, but after she ate rice and potatoes for breakfast, it remained.

She could hear the drowned out ticking of the clock behind her.

And the dripping water.

All of them ticked and dripped at the precise time her brain tried to burst out of her skull.

She slowly raised her head and placed her right palm on her forehead. The coldness of the sudden touch stimulated her nerves and she drew a half-breath. She opened her eyes as light hit her face, the sun now uncovered by the white, cotton-like fluffs in the air, carelessly drifting. It made her eye have a little shine. She sat half-slouching-and-half-straight and looked at the clock behind her.

08:42.

_I'm gonna be late._

She pushed herself up, picked a grape from the bowl, and popped it in her mouth. The one she got was the reddest of the bunch; it was juicy and the taste was very sweet. Ino got a small plastic bag, filled it with the grapes, and then zipped it close. She drank the water from the glass and placed the bottle she held in one of the kitchen cabinets. She stretched a little and found herself making the headache increase a bit from its mellow intensity. She rubbed her temples and placed the grapes inside her small shoulder bag.

The sound of the door opening and then closing was heard. (The topmost hinge of their door was semi-rusty and it made a squeaking sound.) The noise a plastic made when it was rubbed reached her ears.

Her mother came in the dining room, a bit surprised to see her still there.

"Ino, why are you still here?" Her mother asked as she placed the groceries on the table. "Don't you have work at the hospital today?"

Ino took hold of her bag and rubbed mercilessly at her palpitating head. "I'm going right now."

"What's wrong? Headache?"

"I'm fine."

"You could always call in sick."

"I can manage." A little tired from all the _motherly motherness_, she took a deep breath. She didn't really mind her mother's concern on occasion, but now was just not the time. Not the time to take it in. "I can manage," she repeated. She slung the small bag across her body––the peak of the strap on her left shoulder and the bag beside her right hip––and pressed her cheek against her mom's then stepped out.

_Clack. Squeak. Thud._

The radio sang in a heart-felt manner.

-----

Her eyes were halfway open as she walked the streets. Little kids bumped her as they played tag. A balloon burst because of too much helium. Storeowners called out _"Miss! Care for fresh vegetables?"_ or _"Just 3.50 ryou for five pieces!"_ She waved them off politely.

She turned a corner and a pair of jounin greeted her.

Two men; one with brown hair, one wore a bandana. She didn't know them too well, but saw them quite often at the guard-stand when she came by to collect reports or packages meant for Tsunade.

By the time she was at the hospital, her headache had been reduced to something worthy of disregard. She opened the little door of her mailbox, after she clicked open the lock, to see if anyone had slipped any memos in through the slim opening. She rummaged through a number of papers and notes––it was usually Shizune who wrote these kinds of things, but if judged by the handwriting, she was sure one of the nurses had made it––cards, letters, and a little box wrapped in red with a gold ribbon. There was a card beside it that read:

_For you, Ino-san. Thank you._  
_From : Hisoka Naoto_

She smiled.

Naoto's daughter, Miu, had been hacking phlegm for quite some time and her throat was (_very_ red) swelling from the force of her involuntary coughing. Eating had become a problem a few weeks later; Miu didn't want to eat. Her throat _felt rough and burning_, she said. The mere act of swallowing brought tears to the five-year-old's eyes.

Ino had stopped the pain by pressing her chakra on Miu's neck, passing through it to reach her damaged pharynx and repair the broken and torn tissues. The doctor then took care of her abnormal yielding of phlegm. Miu had commented about her glowing, green chakra.

_Ino-san, your chakra's comfortable. It… makes me… sleep…_

Her thought bubble popped. Where have she heard that, _again_? For the second time? Not word for word, not verbatim, but something that meant that.

Her mind rewound to the night watch––

"Good morning, Ino," a calm voice came up behind her, popping her thought bubble yet again, "beautiful day, isn't it?" That voice was too familiar to be forgotten. Ino greeted her as she turned.

"Good morning, Emiho-senpai."

"Senpai?" She laughed. "Didn't I tell you not to call me that?" Emiho opened her own mailbox and flipped through the several cards she had, searching for memos and leaflets. "You make me sound old, Ino, I'm only twenty-five." She finished with a playful raise of an eyebrow. Ino gave her a slight smile, barely noticeable. Emiho noticed that she was holding a box––wrapped in red, nonetheless––a gift.

From someone special to his darling.

"Eh, whose that present from?" She asked, her voice steadily quiet, like it was some big secret. She stuffed back three leaflets along with the letters inside her mailbox, three yellow memos clamped between her pointer and middle finger. "Admirer?"

"This? No. It's just a thank-you present."

"Is that so? I like how it's wrapped, so eye-catching." She glanced at the box, admiring how the gold ribbon was styled. That was why she liked Emiho; she could appreciate simple things. Very simple things. Noticed them and understood the significance they had, no matter how little it might've been.

Even if it didn't _have_ to be recognized.

(The effort put into it was the key, Emiho once said.)

Like gift wrappers.

Ino thought it was weird at first, but she grew to understand soon after.

In a way, Emiho had changed the way she looked at things. Before she met her, she ignored all of the lowly items and people. She thought that it was all about status: A high status, an exquisite appearance. Ino was shallow before––and still was from time to time, she had backtracking moments––but slowly, she had come to realize that life didn't really care whether you were some peasant or a noble. It passed you by, quickly, not setting anyone apart from everyone.

(A ninja's life was like sprinting; it could be cut off any time. _At any time_.)

"I guess."

Emiho giggled childishly, dismissing the matter.

Ino faced away and neatly placed the cards and letters, and the red box inside her own mailbox. No memos. Not much work; good. Her job now would only be updating the records of the patients.

They walked toward the front desk after that and what they saw, at the corner of their eyes first, absolutely grabbed their attention.

A colorful bouquet lied on the front desk, wrapped in white. A yellow ribbon held it all together at the bottom end.

"Emiho-senpai, it's another one for you." Ino elbowed her to the side.

"It's the fourth time this month." She responded, half-smiling.

Ino settled her bag down on the chair and began to sign-in for attendance. She flipped through and found the schedule sheet. She searched each paper for her name, to see when she would come in next. She heard the rustling of the flowers and the wrapper as Emiho searched for the sender's card. Her senpai had received several gifts––one time, a silver bracelet with her name carved on it––from patients that had grown fond of her.

Some from men who had grown attracted to her. She was kind, pretty, and excellent when she worked. No doubt about that. She had a good sense of humor, too.

"So, is it from Kenji again?" Ino asked, anticipating a blush and a quirk of an eyebrow while she was at it.

Emiho finally found the card and started to open it. "C'mon, Ino. You know that there's another nurse who likes him." She looked her way as she replied.

"True," Ino agreed. "But, if _he_ likes you, then she's no match." She waved her hand, gesturing her to hurry up in opening the sealed little envelope.

Emiho smiled as she read the card that was decorated with prints of hearts.

Even laughed a little, her eyes full of joy.

"Who's it from this time?" Ino asked, sitting down on one of the chairs and looking at the time.

09:13.

"This isn't for me, Ino. It's for you."

Ino whipped her head back to her, her uncovered eye wide and questioning.

Her mouth formed the word, _what?_

-----

During the afternoon, Deidara stepped out of the shower, wearing nothing but a white towel wrapped around his waist. He was wiping a bright-green face towel on his nape, absorbing the streaks of water that were running down from his scalp––the rest of him was dry, though. His hair was a messy golden waterfall that draped down his back, sticking onto him due to its dampness. Some of his short fringes clung to his forehead and on his cheeks.

The room was warm and comforting, a gentle _presence_ fluttered the curtains, and no, it wasn't the wind (the window was closed). The smell of newly cut timber mixed with the clean scent of soap and shampoo, blanketing the room with a thin sheet. The bed was a bit messy––like a twisted carnival of giant-pillow-rides and a roller coaster of wavy and creased blankets––but everything else was organized and neat.

Being orderly wasn't expected from someone who was brutal and conniving.

Murderous, even. Yes.

He opened the closet and started to look for something to wear. Clothes that suited the place; meant for _blending in_ and whatnot.

He had spent a little amount on clothes from a sale, a thirteen-minute walk from the inn, eastward. He wouldn't need those if the bag he had on his way to Konoha wasn't ripped and then thrown off when he was ambushed. His Akatsuki cloak was there, too.

(He wasn't stupid enough to walk around, or fly for that matter, wearing that signature clothing.)

He decided that he'd take a little walk around, to get a feel of the village, and if he was lucky enough, hear some useful and important data in connection to his mission. Slip-ups from other shinobi, preferably someone who _directly_ worked under the Hokage––because he knew that villagers had nothing to give out but the latest gossips.

If, he thought, I'm lucky _enough_.

Which he was so far.

He tossed out a pair of boxers, a pair of shorts, and a simple printed shirt. He quickly put them on and combed his hair, laxly tying it as he stepped out, the keys jingling in his pocket. He bumped the innkeeper as he walked out of the inn, dropping flyers, newspapers, and a notebook on the newly mopped and spotless floor.

_Accidents_ happen.

He yawned countless times as he walked––the hot shower made him drowsy, but he needed to work, _NOW_, time had been wasted already. Deidara's eye flew from structure to structure, from house to house, from place to place, searching for anything that could render useful lore. He even used the scope on his left eye to look at faraway buildings, if he didn't feel like walking the distance.

(_This village isn't showy at all, un. Plain; everything's too plain._)

Hints, patterns, symbols that could help him have an advance on his mission. He hadn't done anything beneficial ever since he got to Konoha––aside from fooling a girl, which would serve its purpose in due time––and Pein won't be amused. These things take time, he thought in his defense, gazing up at a sign that said: KONOHA LIBRARY.

His mind sparked.

He went inside the double doors.

Hundreds of thousands of billions of books were shoved in the shelves; red, blue, green (Iwa never had this much). There were also shelves and large, round mesh baskets that held scrolls; medic scrolls, jutsu scrolls, information scrolls; orange, purple, black.

The smell of dust and ancientness and paper were obvious.

Paper. Konan. Libraries reminded him of her. That silent rose with skills and talent––paper folding, origami.

Paper cuts.

He wandered around. The classification system the Konoha Library used was the first thing he noticed. Shelves were labeled into categories and a few had subcategories. The books arranged in them were fixed in a _titular_ order (from Kanji to Hiragana then to Katakana titles); very different from the villages he'd been to. There were also numbers placed on the head of the shelves.

He stopped on a pathway as he saw someone, a woman who was trying to reach a book with a green spine from a level higher than what she could reach. He was about to leave her be when she took notice of him.

"Um, excuse me. If it's no trouble," she pointed to the book, "may you please get that for me?"

Without a word, he walked up, slightly tiptoed, and got it for her––he made it a point that she _shouldn't_ see the mouths in his hands––reluctantly.

She laughed nervously. "Thank you." She turned toward the wide table just beside them, with three chairs on either side, and arranged the books lying on it into a neat stack.

She then walked past him, now carrying the books that were a little over half a dozen, the one he got placed on top. She had short black hair and had a pig walking beside her, making those _huwei_ sounds––mellow squeals that sounded kind of cute––and it had two books on its back (and if he made those out right, those were medical books). The heels of her shoes clacked against the cement floor. She didn't look at him.

The pig did, wondering why he was staring at her, wary of him.

_Shizune. Godaime's right-hand woman. Medic-nin._

He didn't put much thought to it except that he should be attentive, more aware of people than he was now. Like Shizune; she had access to numerous files. One of those files would lead to Akatsuki. The files of Akatsuki would lead to him.

And he was sure that they had a sketch of him there––a very poor, rough sketch that didn't really catch the way he looked, actually––certainly.

It was _Konoha_ after all.

(The reason why they didn't place the sketch in the Bingo Book was beyond him. It was probably old and too inaccurate, he finally thought.)

He shrugged it off and went further along inside. He roamed from shelf to shelf searching for a book.

Or a scroll.

It depended on where it was written. Did the writer write it in a book? What was its title?

_Was it _even_ here?_ In this library. Or stacked somewhere else, in a locked chest or in a safe? Maybe it wasn't written in a book or a scroll, but in pieces of paper stuffed inside a worn out folder.

He tipped a red book forward and pulled it out. It was classified under _history_, where he suspected the book––or scroll––he was looking for fell under in. The title was _The Great Ninja War_. It was thick and old. The spine was still sturdy but the pages were frayed and torn. The first page was folded. The color of the paper was the color of sand. He slid it back into the void where he got it. He was about to pick up another book when a voice invaded his mind.

Pein.

He was silent for a few moments, listening intently, fake-reading a book. Pein's voice ricocheted around his head, swimming and loud. He couldn't remove the feeling that he was standing right next to him. He asked where he was and he answered with his thoughts.

Mind link was such an amazing thing.

Their conversation ceased as soon as Pein gave him the facts he needed. He went over to the librarian to ask for a specific author.

A woman, in her mid-thirties, looked up at him, leaving the papers she was arranging to the side. "Yes, how may I help you, sir?"

"Jiraiya's books, where are they?" Was it him, or did her eyes just light up, sparked with animation and attention? She pulled a drawer open and got out a piece of yellow paper. She read whatever was in it with her eyes, skimming.

"Jiraiya-sama? We gave his books their own shelf," she placed the paper back in, "you can find it in shelf fifty-three." There were those eyes again. Knowingly suspicious. Entertained.

He left without responding, without a little gratitude for the assistance.

Shelf fifty-three was at the far left of the library. It was sub-labeled _author_ under the name _The Great Jiraiya_. He supposed that this was the division where books were placed under the author's name––because his works were on the top of the bestsellers list (and were something to look forward to) and his name had received recognition, and was loved, throughout several countries. The shelf next to Jiraiya's was _Kishimoto's_. It was filled with tons of manga volumes and was nearly empty––because several of it were checked out and most of it were overdue (those were the ones borrowed by the children).

Jiraiya's shelf was just as vacant. The two topmost levels of books had orange covers––_Icha Icha Paradise_. The middle section had red covers––_Icha Icha Violence_. The books below them had sky blue covers––_Icha Icha Tactics_.

"Icha Icha?" He said to himself. "A series?"

He took one, the latest edition, _Icha Icha Tactics_, and flipped through a random page. His eyebrows were slanted downwards, trying to absorb what was written.

_Her clothes pooled around her feet as she slipped her bathrobe on, soft-pink in color and smelled deliciously of strawberries. She wore nothing under it._

_Not even undergarments._

_She grabbed the white towel that was on the bed and hung it around her forearm, ready to go out and head for the onsen._

_He was in the large closet, hiding, concealed from her view. The oxygen inside was already depleting and what he greedily sucked in was carbon dioxide, dust, and, if there was, nitrogen. The smell of clean clothes was all around him, suffocating him even more. He peeped through the tiny hole once more and saw her m_––

He closed the book and placed it back in the shelf.

Didn't leave any impression on him. Made him wonder _exactly_ how old the Legendary Sannin, Jiraiya, was.

Time's dwindling, he thought. He stooped down to the level where the colors of the books weren't uniform anymore; green beside brown, beside blue, beside gray. A dusty white beside another green.

_Which book?_

There was a table near by and he gathered all the books he got his hands on. He got something close to a dozen. He settled them on the table and he pulled out a chair––making that metallic grinding sound against the cracked cement floor––and plopped down on it. He stared at the tall, one-on-top-of-the-other books that looked down on him like he was some insignificant underling. He removed some of the books at the top, from its tower-like appearance and placed them directly on the table. Deidara dragged a yellow covered book entitled _Legacy of the Unforgotten_ (too melodramatic, he muttered) and read the table of contents.

Just sixteen chapters––the table of contents didn't name what would be told in each chapter; it was just _Chapter One_, _Chapter Two_,_ Chapter Three_, and so on, with the pages on the opposite end.

He rested his elbow on the table, upright, and leaned his head on the back of his hand. He turned the page and perused bluntly.

He'd mostly just scan the whole book, see if the information Pein needed him to take back was there, and if it was, he'd steal the book––he shook his head, half-smiling at the _fantasized conclusion_ of his mission; if that was the case, then there was no need to play around with Ino––and if not, move on; next book.

Next batch of books, if necessary.

The book was about historical shinobi and aphorisms. Historical events related to them were narrated and he knew that the story was a little stretched. Expanded. Edited. Cut, half-truth, abbreviated.

Even books lie. Because what was a story without an interesting twist?

He was already in page forty-nine when a heading caught his attentive blue eye.

_Amegakure War: The Era of Weeping_

He sat up straight and read carefully, running his eye on every word, studying them, engrossing himself between each letter, each word, sentence, paragraph.

The topic ran seventeen pages long. Now twenty.

Twenty-six.

And he didn't find anything.

-----

Ino popped the last grape in her mouth and threw the plastic bag in the black garbage bag, situated inside a bin. It was nearing 05:30 PM and her shift had been over about ten minutes ago. Emiho had left around 04:21 PM and was probably doing paperwork at a restaurant, enjoying a nice hot meal. (Sushi, rice, shrimp.)

She tapped the nurse beside her––the woman who she had to switch with––and told her she was going. The nurse waved her goodbye and she went to her mailbox, the bouquet of flowers in her hands, her shoulder bag around her. She flicked open the lock and took the wrapped-in-red gift and placed it carefully in her bag. She left the hospital after she had set herself and her belongings right; then she went straight home.

The smell of soy sauce and beef blew in her face as she entered her house. The boiling of water––the bubbling of it––and the loud frying noise struck her ears. She carefully placed the bouquet on the couch and went into the kitchen; she found her mom busying herself with cooking, her father chopping onions under cold water––it prevented the tears that the little round bastards caused from coming.

"Ah, Ino," her mother said, not turning away from the hot pan, "could you go over to the store and buy some eggs? And hurry, Shikaku and his family would be arriving soon."

"Sure." She dropped her bag on the chair and asked for the money.

"Money's on the table, honey." Her mom replied, flipping the fish over.

The table was set; six plates, six pairs of chopsticks, and six cups. There was a round winnowing basket, with banana leaves arranged inside, at the center, filled with stir-fried noodles. There was soup with potatoes in a bowl and rice on a plate. There was ham and beef. Shrimp on a small plate, vegetable rolls on a black circular tray––

The table was full.

She stepped out and noticed that the light of the sun had become orange, lacking its day-bright concentration. Streetlamps were open, as they were every time the sun was about to go down, and the sky had lacked clouds. She saw a little star.

The first one out.

She began to walk toward the store. The closest one to her house.

It was near the library and Deidara was just about to leave.

-----

He stacked the books back in their rows, not caring whether each one was in the right place or not. _It's the librarian's job to worry about things like that._

It wasn't there.

He wasn't sure, but of the books he had searched through––his eye only roamed five books because of their thickness, and with such little time––nothing was there.

Nothing about the _Amegakure Orphans_ Jiraiya had met and taught.

There were about three pairs of ANBU in the library and that meant it was time, _for him_, to go. He was two steps down, out of the library, the book he borrowed in his left hand, when he saw Ino.

She was entering a fairly large store that had white shelves, contained with several goods and products, occupying the wide space inside; the one across the library, with a green roof, doors wide open and the register at the far back. On the roof, there was a board that said, _Kame Shop_. He saw her wave hello at the man who wore a yellow-brown shirt and had streaks of white hair. The man was sweeping the floor with a worn out broom. The man waved back.

An ANBU brushed past him, making him sway a little; muttered a small apology––the voice sounded muffled and low––and then jumped to a nearby roof. Then he was gone. A tepid wind passed by. He looked up into the sky and forced himself to notice the dispersed clouds, the dying sun, the stars that weren't even out yet––

_What am I doing?_

He was standing at the steps of the library, a few feet away from a girl he knew who was buying.

_Why?_

Well, wasn't he waiting?

_For _what_, un?_

For her?

The Iwa nukenin's attention went back to the store, to the _Kame Shop_ sign first then to Ino, who was now leaving. He could go to her, be friendly, be a pretender, be a liar, build up his _enticing personality_. It was easy.

It had been, after all, a long day––planning as he bathed, strategizing just in case something went amiss, reading, being cautious––and he might as well loosen up.

(Stealth wasn't his forte and he remembered Sasori saying that.)

He took a half step forward, thinking about unwinding for the last five minutes before he went back to the inn.

His body froze, stopped itself. Something held him back, held him in place.

_Unwinding?_ A voice yelled at him, coming from beside him, from his brain, from his nerves, from his ears, and it wasn't Pein.

It was him. His own rational voice.

_Deidara, would you stay focus? You're on a _mission_, not on a vacation. __HUGE DIFFERENCES, DEIDARA. TOO HUGE TO EVEN COMPARE._

He stood still, his right hand now tucked in his pocket, and waited for her to pass. If Ino saw him, she'd surely approach him. He realized that he wasn't up to it. His visible eye, blue––deep electricity running through it as he read in the library––gave a hint of drowsiness. He yawned then pinched the bridge of his nose. He went down the steps as soon as she was out of sight. He cocked his head toward the sky again, wanting to look at the detonated sun that was now half obscured by trees and mountains.

He listened. He stayed focus.

-----

Ino got dressed in a white OL blouse (made from stretchable cotton); it was a v-neck with ruffle details, silver buttons, and had cap sleeves with elasticized openings. She also had a gray skirt that went up to her knees. Her hair was in a semi-bun-ponytail and her long fringe had a purple clip, fastening it back, and was tucked behind her ear. She stood in front of her mirror and turned her back, to see if there was anything off.

There was a knock at the door at around 07 PM.

The Nara family came in, with Shikamaru holding a bag that contained two sake bottles in them.

"Oh, thank you." Ino said as she took it from him. She placed them on the counter and proceeded to the dining room where everyone was getting settled.

Yoshino, Shikamaru's mother, hugged her as soon as she came. It was a tight hug, warm and tender. Yoshino said that whenever she stopped by Ino was always out––on a mission, training, at the hospital; _oh, she just left_. To Ino, she felt like a second mother to her, as did Chouji's mother.

She felt as if the Akimichi, Nara, and Yamanaka clans were one huge family, due to the strong bond that connected them. She was sure that Shikamaru and Chouji felt all the same as her, not that the former would talk about it.

They sat down and began to eat after the hugs, the shaking of the hands, and the _welcoming greetings_. They said their thanks then ate. Laughter and stories were all around, drowning the music into the background. The sound of chopsticks thumping against the plates dully resonated. Ino heard the tea boil and got up to take it. She placed it on the rubber mat on the table and sat back down.

"Ino," Yoshino began, "I've heard that you were genjutsu-training." She picked up a piece of beef from her plate and drew it in her mouth then began to chew.

Ino nodded. "I'm training with Kurenai-sensei whenever it's convenient for her."

"Ah, Kurenai's the best one around if you want to learn genjutsu." Shikaku agreed nodding his head once.

After dinner, the men headed to the living room with the bottles of sake in their hands. Ino went with them with a tray of glasses and a plate of shish kebabs. She went back to the kitchen to help clear the table.

"It's alright," Ino's mother said, ushering Yoshino to the living room, "Ino and I will deal with the cleaning later."

"No, no. Look at it this way," she used hand gestures for emphasis, "the men will have the living room as their territory and we'll have ours here." She said, smiling knowingly and gently. The smile Shikamaru had never ought to believe her mother had; the strict expression and the scolding often fogged that smile.

(Although Shikamaru had always said that his mother never stops nagging, Ino had never seen that side of her.)

Boisterous laughter and the clinking of toasting glass marched up to the kitchen as the men in the other room got drunker and drunker, save for Shikamaru who just watched them. He gave himself a drink every now and then; he was just on his second glass while the other two were on their, what, ninth?

Shikaku, whose cheeks were a bit pink, drew in breath. "I would love to hear more, old man, but I have to take a leak, if you don't mind."

"You go do that while I straighten this table up," Inoichi said, a tissue in his hand wiping the spilled sake bottle, "you know your way around." Shikaku got up and bent back a little, his hands on the small of his back; his spine made a popping sound. Then he walked out of the room, looking like a tired old man. Shikamaru sighed.

_Didn't he have a more proper term for _going to the bathroom?

He got a tissue and tidied up the table as well, picking up scattered shish kebab sticks; some were on the floor, some just off the plate.

"Shikamaru." His name came out slurred, but not drunk. He looked up at the seemingly sleepy eyes of Ino's father. His cheeks were pink and his eyes lacked their natural blue, looking like a dusty gray-blue.

"Yes." He answered and he heard Inoichi clear his throat.

"Shikamaru, have you seen anyone… _new_ hanging out with Ino?"

Serious now. He was very serious, his voice low and secretive. The words came out very clear, as if he had shed his drunken front. The man with dusty, pale blond hair looked him in the eye.

This morning, Inoichi had only asked Ino a few questions, considering her headache. She gave him straight answers and truthful ones; she didn't lie; he could tell if she did.

Inoichi knew what the man's name was.

(_Dei––something. Dei; Dei was a good _follow-up_ name._)

"Someone new?" Shikamaru raised his eyebrow, doubting his seriousness, thinking that maybe the sake had gotten his mind and he was experiencing delirium. But his eyes, they were intense and attentive. Eager was the best description. "I don't know…"

"Someone blond, maybe?"

"Blon––" He warped. Back to yesterday.

Hokage Mountain. The introduction. The superficial _pleased to meet you_. That red (or was it blue?) glint on the left side of his face, concealed by his fringe. That man––"Yeah, I know one."

"I want you to keep a close eye on him."

"Eh––Wait, what?" _Is he asking me to spy on him? Seriously, he needs to lie down; that delirium's pretty bad._

Inoichi rubbed his temples, a migraine started to form. He grabbed the bottle of sake and poured himself half a glassful.

"Oi, oi, j-just hold on a minute…" Shikamaru stood up and placed his hand on the glass, keeping it still, preventing him from chugging any more sake. Inoichi groaned and let him take the glass away; he pressed his temples hard instead. Shikamaru heard him mutter, _what was I just saying?_

Shikaku returned soon. He was yawning, sleep-waters at the corner of each eye. He still had a pinkish hue on his cheeks. "I guess it's about time we went home, Inoichi. It's getting late."

"Hn? What time is it?" Vision was fogged, eyes hurt, fighting to stay awake.

"It's half past nine." He took a glass and gave himself a last drink. "I'm going to have a damn hangover tomorrow." He finished it and set it back down on the table, heaving out a sigh of satisfaction. "Yoshino, let's go." Shikamaru stood up alongside him.

"We're going?" Yoshino, along with Ino's mother, emerged from the kitchen.

"Ah… It's getting late." He clutched his head, feeling a little woozy. "Let's go. Thank you so much for dinner, it's been grand."

"No problem." Ino's mother smiled and Yoshino hugged her. "Take care now."

Just as they were out the door, Ino came running with a red paper bag in her hand. She touched Shikamaru's shoulder, and gave it to him.

"A little token from me, to you."

"For me? Why?"

"For coming." She answered. "I know you don't really like gatherings like this… because it's _troublesome_." Emphasis on the last word. Great emphasis.

"Women…" He sighed. "Thanks." She smiled.

-----

That night, when Ino slept, when her parents––most especially her father, who slept like a log on the couch as she and her mother cleaned the living room––dozed, she dreamed.

Of Konoha. _Burning_.

A consuming fire that turned everything into black dust; ashes. The screams of people, the sound of houses crumbling. Crying children. Explosions. Shinobi running everywhere to protect everyone.

And there was something else.

Far away, high above the Hokage tower, there was a gigantic bird. With someone on its back, looking down on everything with a pleased expression, with a pleased mind, and a smirk.

He looked down on creation.

_Art_.

-----

As Ino's dream––or nightmare, rather––harassed her that night, Deidara was completely awake, sitting on his bed, a cup of coffee on his bedside table, his right hand molding clay into random animals; it helped him counteract boredom. The book he borrowed lied open on his lap, titled _Journey_, written by Jiraiya, of course.

The minutes went by and Pein, once again, talked.

_Did you find it?_

"No. But, may I ask something?"

_I'm listening._

"Jiraiya's a famous novelist, his works have been distributed to several villages and countries," he formed a sculpture of a scorpion, "why didn't you send me somewhere else, like Iwa––I know the place very well, I'd find the book fast; who cares if people there recognize me––other than a place that I don't know anything of?"

_The book you're looking for wasn't published anywhere else, other than Konoha; and it's the only one. A part of that book tells about the Rinnegan: How to counter it, weaknesses, history, origin, techniques that could be intensified by it. He invested it there for Konoha's benefit––since Jiraiya hailed from there, it served as his own _donation_. If someone who had the Rinnegan were to attack them, the shinobi there would know how to defend the village._

"Konoha. Why didn't you send Itachi? He'd get the book for you in a day, un."

_He had another task to attend to and he'll cause an uproar._

Deidara sighed.

_There's a high chance that it wouldn't be in the library, Deidara._

"I know that, just thought I'd confirm."

_I'll leave the rest to you._

The conversation ended and the voice evaporated.

Deidara closed the book, feeling drained from all the reading, and lied down, his head dropped on the soft pillow. He stared at the ceiling, not able to go to sleep due to the heavy dose of coffee. He placed his forearm over his eyes, trying to block everything out––it always helped him go to sleep.

But it was a long time before he finally got peace.


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER IV**

Everywhere she turned: Pandemonium. Havoc. Death.

(This was beautiful; creation to the eyes of the one who brought this upon the village.)

She stood frozen solid in the middle of the street as everything around her slowly turned black from the fire's burning glory. Sweat ran down the side of her face as the surrounding's emitted heat wrapped its arms around her, intense, making it hard to breathe. Flashes of orange, yellow, and red danced within her exposed cerulean eye, which was struck with fear, trepidation, and panic. Her lips were dry and her face had gone pale. She felt her body become numb, immobilized by the bloodcurdling scene all around. She swallowed and found her throat coarse.

The house to her left exploded with a passion, knocking her out of her dumbstruck catalepsy, and she shielded her face with her arms. Sharp debris cut into her flesh and blood started to race down her arms and shins. The blood from the former slid to her elbows and it dripped to the illy, illuminated ground, marking it with darker spots. Rubbles untimely rained down; and so did pipes, furniture––whatever was left of it––and more or less, cinders. She forced her body to run a few meters away from the area she was at.

A couch or a cabinet would fall _on her_ if she didn't move.

Pieces of chipped wood also poured from above; chunks of lumber and shards of glass. She had her hands on her knees, watching it, her breathing slightly audible, when she was at a safe distance. She was in a slight stupor when, moments later, a woman's morbid scream frightened her.

It came from just a few feet behind her.

She felt a chill run up her spine; the piercing cry laced around horror, loss, and sobs. She turned around.

There, a woman with short brown hair was kneeling on the ground, her thin hands covering her (tear-stained) face. Her dress was like it had been washed in a pool of blood; it was pure crimson and obviously soaked. Her forearms were also painted red and under her was a small puddle of dark liquid, disturbed. The woman's body was shaking all over––tense. She looked like she had just escaped from a family slaughter––and what she last saw before she successfully fled was the twisting of the neck of her grandmother and the evisceration of her brother's intestine.

There was a round object, though not a perfect sphere, lying in front of the woman.

Due to the spacious distance, she had mistaken it for a ball but when she took a closer look and with a little help from the dusky light of the flames and a brighter, faraway light from another explosion, she saw what it really was.

Ino saw a head.

A man's decapitated head.

Her hands involuntarily went to her lips and she made a small, squeaking noise as she took two steps back. Tears started to form in her eyes. Her whole body started to shudder evidently, her knees and legs trembling badly. She felt ill and uneasy, thinking that she wouldn't be able to take it. She turned away, the face of the man carved in her mind, unforgettable.

The mouth was wide open, as if it was going to utter an erupting yell of sheer agony but it never came because––

She felt nauseas.

One-fourth of the head had been blown away. The right eye was gone and its socket had fresh blood; it had run down like a river and had dyed the man's––the previous owner's––cheek.

She tried to push the mental images out of her head. The built up revulsion, she held it in. Soft whispers trekked in and out of her ears, reminding her; it plagued her. (_That could've been you._)

Its teeth were––

She dropped herself kneeling on the ground, eyes tightly shut; her hands now covered her ears, trying to shun away the man's gruesome expression, face, and the fictitious whispers. She was hearing hushed, distant screams and the muffled shouts of shinobi ordering the villagers to go to the Konoha gates. The sound of two successive explosions and the crumbling of buildings passed through the protection of her hands and reached her ears. The man's traumatizing face flashed in her mind again, irritating her.

_No. Go away!_

Even her thoughts _sounded_ perturbed.

"Ino? Is that you?" An unfamiliar voice called out to her, but she didn't hear. The person held her wrist and she looked up: It was the jounin who wore the bandana, only now the bandana was tightly tied around his arm, helping stop the efflux of blood. It was probably a deep wound since the large handkerchief was now somewhat dripping. "Are you alright? You're not hurt, are you?"

She wanted to respond, but her vocal chords have died a long time ago––she didn't know exactly when––not complying to produce her voice. She shook her head instead.

That was the start of her relaxing, calming down, relieved to see that _someone was there_.

She studied him for a bit (it was sort of a reflex). His face looked odd, a mix of concern and turbulence strained his expression, a bad blend; fiery colors randomly bounced about his face. His forehead was slick with sweat, slithering down and forming droplets under his jaw, and so was his palm. He had smudges of soot on his cheek, neck, forearms, and a severe burn under his right ear. He also had a forming bruise on his bottom lip.

"That's good," he said. He helped her stand up, held her by the hand, and then started to guide her toward the Konoha gates. He stopped as he felt her fingers twitch and stiffen, as if reluctant. He turned his head to look at her. She was staring over her shoulder, looking behind, a questioning, bewildered glaze in her eye. He looked over his shoulder as well, but found nothing there. "Ino, we have to––"

That was all he got out until his head blew up, sending splatters of blood on her. Her eyes widened––scarred and distressed––when she looked back at him. She uttered a small, cracked cry and she violently––desperately––wriggled her wrist out of his grasp. When she was released, she tumbled back and crawled over to the side, a decent distance away. The body twitched and staggered before it dropped on the ground, stationary and dead, headless even; blood discharged from the top of the neck where the head was connected. _Was._ She watched the body fall as she panted, a deranged look marred her pretty––quite blood-flawed––face.

That was the continuation of her discomfort.

She had no issues with blood or death (or a little gore)––she was a medic after all––because she saw those countless times at the hospital; a chuunin lost his leg, got stabbed, gashed or sliced from a battle, examined a corpse to realize the cause and time of death. But a person's head spontaneously exploding was, at every aspect, different.

She wanted to turn her head away from the mess that had happened to the man, to close her eyes, to avert her gaze, but found herself unable to––helpless. It disgusted her and nausea started to build up again. Throwing up isn't an option, she thought, feeling sicker than she already was, her stomach churning. She felt cold despite the fervor around her. Her hands quaked involuntarily and a warm tear clandestinely crept down her cheek.

_What's happening?_

Her thoughts still _sounded_ panicked. Rattled and spinning.

_When did this start?_ She mused, uncertain and confused. _I wasn't aware when this began?_ She imagined herself halted somewhere, at some point, in the eternal expanse of time, ignorant of the lethally developing crisis surrounding her possibly unconscious self––mind and body. She didn't know what was what anymore; the more she excogitated, the more she felt lost. She turned her head toward the direction of where she saw the bloody woman; she wasn't there. She let out the breath that she had been unknowingly holding.

Ino gathered herself later on, built up composure once again––it took some time, though––and she stood up, her legs quite controlled now.

She tentatively looked around; empty, everyone was at the Konoha gates already, unexposed to fatal danger and risk. The crackling of the fire was her only companion. She heard something made from glass shatter as something heavy (one of the rafters, perhaps) dropped on it and then made a loud thump.

She was staring at the spot where a potted plant used to stand when something compelled her to look up at the Hokage tower; instinct told her there was something interesting there, something she knew.

Just something; _go look!_

All she saw was a thick layer of smoke, well-defined against the pitch-black sky. It appeared to be still, unmoving, no wind blew the grayish gas. The thought that she was stuck at a point in time occurred to her again. Centered on the smoke, she suddenly wondered if it was possible to restore the village (there were no shinobi extinguishing the devilish flames; seemed as though everything was left for ruin, abandoned for the better). Two of the protruding pillars at the roof of the tower collapsed and fell down on the attached building to the right. A crash happened, then a loud bang, then the disharmonious sound of an object hollowly breaking apart. She watched it become demolished. A cloud of fume flooded out, like a black fountain.

A silent signal of warning.

An augury.

(Ino didn't see the message of it, though.)

For some ungodly reason she found it fascinating. The way it––

She shook her head contemptuously and abruptly turned her back to it. Distractions, they lured attention away from something important––duty, task, aim; excuses, they delayed an intention (sometimes for a purpose, and on purpose). The acrid odor of smoke invaded her nostrils and she coughed.

_What am I doing? I need to get out of here._

A feeling of betrayal landed on her. Leaving the village just like that didn't feel right. Konoha had been standing strong for over sixty years; it served as a home and refuge from the threats outside, in the open. Departing––hoping that the village would tend to itself, rescue itself, and wishing that it would be standing there when she got back––seemed despicable. But she knew she couldn't do anything here, furthermore, there was no gumption in staying. Tsunade would send back jounin to clear the fire after the villagers were safe. That much she was positively certain of.

(The people were top priority.)

Ino then carefully pondered her role; what part would she play in all this? Her eye trailed to the recently beheaded jounin, however, she was a tiny bit apologetic that she had reminded herself of that again. For a few seconds, she stood quietly, null options engraving themselves (or maybe those weren't options at all). When she had reached the end of the rope of her contemplating, an idea had sprung up; her contribution. _Of course!_

She could heal. Alleviate the pain of the injured––she didn't train under the best medic and a powerful influencer, Tsunade, for nothing; she could now accomplish what she'd always wanted to do: Serve as a benefit, a plus for the village. She wouldn't be just on the sidelines anymore, protected and unable to offer her skills as a bonus. She had worth now. Feebly smiling, but still doubting, she walked away, exiting.

She still carried the weight of the mislaid concept that she was betraying her village.

She had taken seven steps when she felt a tug at her skirt. She froze; instant fear grappled her in the throat, a hitch in her breath. A portrayal of the circumstance dawned in on her: A nearly lifeless body, with its limbs deformed, its hair in a bundle, its face shadowed, and its clothes shredded, tugging at her skirt, begging for benefaction––the fact she had experienced atypical situations tonight, she had no argue that it was possible. She slowly looked behind her and relaxed (discreetly exhaled) when she saw that it was a little boy––clearly alive and breathing and well, about the age of seven.

The boy was crying. He was wearing blue pajamas with dried blood near the hem of the shirt. His left hand was against his eyes and was holding three white flowers. She knew what those flowers were; she knew them very well.

Those were her favorite kinds when she was little.

Cosmos.

Ino stooped down and held the little boy in her arms. She felt the struggle of the boy's body to take in air. She resolved that they had to get out fast; the fire was eating up all the oxygen. Carbon monoxide was lofting all around them, waiting to be inhaled and absorbed by the lungs.

"It's alright. Let's get out of here, okay?" Ino said––finding her voice for the first time tonight––rubbing the boy's back. Her voice was strangled and she didn't think he heard her. She then looked at him, her hands placed gently on his shoulders, and gave him a reassuring smile that said, everything was going to be fine and that he'd see his parents again, unharmed. The boy didn't smile back, instead, his face began to contort in pain and his eyes released another collection of tears. The boy's shoulders left her hands, she didn't feel them under her palms anymore; she gave him a quizzical look. Then something _happening_ on his face brought upon emotions of insecurity deep inside her.

The boy was disintegrating.

(Eaten.)

She pulled away from him, who didn't seem to mind what was taking place. She stood up––a bit too quickly that blood rushed out from her brain, resulting in her quick, temporary blindness––and stepped away. Squirts of blood dropped on the ground. The breaking of his skin was apparent, cracking up before dispelling into nothing. Half of his face was now taken away; it had started with his left ear then it spread to his eye. It was as if a cloaked cannibal was destroying him, slowly eroding, nibbling his existence.

A sense of pity and duty welled up inside her. _I have to save him!_

Immediate understanding of the boy's situation then took hold of her before she got near him again, and it countered her with the words, _no, you can't._

He was too far, too unreachable, beyond irreparable; the spread of whatever was gnawing on him was too fast, and it was already too late even from the start––the moment it began, everything was already over, nothing more could be done. In a matter of seconds, both of the boy's arms vanished.

Then his right eye disappeared, the last of him.

He was gone.

_He's dead._

The boy's pajamas had drooped on the ground, making folds and creases. It lingered as an impression of a memento.

Ino was perplexed. _I'm losing it. I'm __FUCKING__ losing it!_ She scolded herself for no sensible reason. The cosmos lied blamelessly on the ground, pure white and untarnished. Her haunted gaze was fixed on it. Mo––

She started coughing again, more forcefully this time, and she heard a click in the back of her throat. When it stopped, the cosmos _called_ to her, and it caught her attention once again. It was giving her a subtle message, a sign, a hint. (A wink.)

She was forgetting something.

She needed to check something.

_Cosmos were flowers… Flowers._

She heard a crash; a house of neutral distance from where she was surrendered to the fire's feat, nevertheless, her focus remained on the blossoms. The flowers were significant right now, only three florets mattered to her at the moment. The purpose––the idea, the presence––of the blooms were at the tip of her tongue and she just needed to grasp it. She knew that this was another configuration of a distraction, but for an urgent reason, this wasn't supposed to be neglected––_I'd regret it if I did_. A petal from one of the cosmos snapped off.

And as if on cue, her brain recalled the connection the flowers had.

_Shit! My parents! _(_Are they out of the house?_)

(The _flower s_hop!)

She didn't think of her safety anymore, all thoughts of leaving the inferno of a village dissipated. She turned toward the direction of the shop and started to run. Her sandals made a dusty scratch against the ground as she gradually began sprinting across the deserted homes. Each house she passed seemed to mock her, as if showing off that the residents who _were_ inside were now kilometers away from the village, together and complete; no one missing from the family. A pang of sadness shot through her as she tried to not think about the likelihood of her parents still being inside their abode, trapped––maybe even unconscious. She made a sharp turn at the third corner she came to and stopped when a gust of wind hit her full on.

It blew the heat and a thick coating of smog toward her, resulting in her inability to respire properly. She covered her nose and mouth as she coughed lightly. The gust lasted for about seven seconds. She was about to continue running when a shadow appeared ten feet away from her. It resembled a blob and it grew in size as the owner of the shadow drew nearer.

_Fell from the sky_ nearer.

Ino looked above and her sight met a dark figure––human in form––descending from what looked like a giant white eagle, idling a few meters away. She felt the little bursts of winds, from the flapping of the wings of the avian, rub past her face. The dark figure landed in front of her; it stood up and faced her. Though she couldn't see the person's features properly––in detail––it was obvious to her that the person was a male; the essence he held just whispered that eerie fact to her. Moreover, his essence told her that he was responsible for all this. She grabbed a kunai from her pouch and held it in front of her, positioning herself defensively just in case he attacked. She felt the quickened pulsing of her heart.

She couldn't see the man's face, darkened by an unnatural umbra. He wore a black cloak with a high collar and his hair was fixed into an upright ponytail. Other than that, she couldn't tell what else he had; he stood there, his semblance looming like an omen. A dark omen.

(Deceit was what she could dominantly comprehend.)

Very slowly his right hand lifted up, beckoning her to come over. Her grip tightened, anticipating that a battle was about to begin––and she was on the losing side. She could sense definite power in him, a malevolent aura, and intricate skills.

Professional.

She expected a droplet of sweat to slide down her face and drip onto the ground, but there was none of that. Instead, her skin felt dry. Her vision started to get blurry and her intake of air was rapid. _This is bad._

Heat stroke.

And at that moment, the lower half of the man's face became visible and was unconcealed by the high collar.

Ino saw him smile. It wasn't evil, whatsoever. Not intriguing either.

It was an appreciative smile, hovered with slight conceit and mischief.

Her face felt warm now and her grip on the kunai was loosening, though she was absolutely positive that she was grasping it with all her might. She saw his lips move, his hand still extended toward her.

"Ino."

_How does this bastard know my name?_

She saw his lips move again but its synchronization with his voice lagged. And she couldn't put a face on him, his voice was alien to her.

"There will be chaos."

_Wha––?_

She started to choke. Her coughing fit acted up again and she couldn't breathe at all. She dropped the kunai and both her hands came to hold her neck, pressed against it and pushing up, trying to dislodge whatever was inside––she was feeling a tight blockage in her throat. It then started to feel itchy and infected, like several microscopic bugs were, literally, crawling all over. She managed to take a minute intake of air. She felt her limbs weakening and she dropped herself to the ground. Her left hand was now flat on the earth, supporting her frame, and her eyes were now emitting tears due to the excruciating pain that was spreading _in_ her, through her. The fingers on her left hand then began to ache, feel heat, and instantaneously become numb; when she looked at it, she screamed, but it was, without a warning, cut off, resulting into a fractured echo.

Whatever had happened to the seven-year-old boy a while ago, was happening to her now.

She was disintegrating, deteriorating. It was her turn.

_I'm dying..._

She lifted her face to him, ready to curse him with the most obscene of profanities, but she only produced a wheezing sound. She coughed out blood mixed with saliva. Her head started to disappear, eroded; her hands, feet, and abdomen were gone. Her veins, muscles, tendons, bones, bone marrow were now visible––and would disappear soon enough; ad nauseam (she felt like she was being skinned alive). Her eyes were closing; _it hurts!_ Her existence was being erased.

She could almost taste death––

Ino's eyes flew open as she outrightly sat up, her spinal chord popping loudly. Her breathing was hard and labored, deep inhaling, and beads of sweat were on her forehead. She swallowed and felt like a knife had sliced a wide gap in her throat. Her seemingly hollowed cerulean eye was glazed over at the end of her bed. Her hair was clinging to her face and she brushed them off with a clammy finger. She looked outside her window and saw the clear blue sky, the sun, and the chirping birds. No sign of a calamity. No disaster.

She treaded to the bathroom unfocusedly and dizzily, feeling feverish. The bathroom tiles felt cold under her bare feet, sending sharp electric shivers through her nerves. She opened the tap and let the clear liquid flow––she saw her faint reflection, rattled and stressed. She cupped her hands, gathered water, and splashed it on her face. The water's temperature was freezing and she yelped out of surprise. It stung and it drove her drowsiness away. She waited a few moments before slopping her face with water the second time. She then wiped her face with a towel and hung it around her neck afterwards. She stood by the sink for a long while, still delusional and scared, trying to find herself, contending to lessen the severity of the thundering emotions she had. She took her exit later on and descended the stairs, heading for the kitchen.

The exhaust fan was turned on, making that mechanical whirring sound. There was rice being cooked and pork slices were boiling in a pot, steam was coming out from the tiny hole in the lid. She pulled open the refrigerator and took a pitcher of apple juice. She settled a glass on the table, poured the beverage in it, and placed the pitcher back in the fridge; the cold air it released gave her legs and forearms goose bumps. She sat on one of the chairs, her mind still lingering on her dream.

_It was a nightmare._

Feeling uncomfortable, she folded her legs and settled her heels on the chair seat, her thighs pressed against her chest and her hands on the table, holding the glass. She heaved a heavy sigh and silenced her blundering mind. Dreams are thoughts, she told herself (without the use of words), thoughts that the subconscious mind processed and imaged during slumber. _It means nothing. You're just thinking too much, Ino._ She rationalized.

She took a sip of the juice and the sweet taste brought her taste buds to life, her tongue tingled as it was splashed with something cool, her throat enjoyed the refreshment. She licked her lips. She then heard slow footsteps drawing near the kitchen; she turned her attention to the doorway and waited for the person responsible for the sound to emerge.

Her mother came in, holding a vase full of variously colored flowers. The vase featured hand painted roses over a transparent red glass, with a gold trim on the rim and the base. It was her mother's favorite one––among all the other vases they had lying around––because it was the very first wedding anniversary present Inoichi gave her––it was filled with perennials back then and was given to her along with a red box that contained a silver necklace.

"Had a nice sleep, dear?" Her mother asked, placing the vase on the table––Ino heard the plopping of the water as the slight rocking of the vase bothered its stillness. Her mother started to arrange the flowers into a more appropriate display.

Ino was staring at the blossoms when she heard her mother's question, interrupting her fixed engrossment; she answered a second later, offering a late, peculiarly sounding, reply. "Ye… yeah…" she started, "good morning, mom."

Her mother gave her a split second of a knowing glance and she didn't seem to notice.

Ino eyed the flowers carefully, its colors and coordination picking at her brain. "Hey, aren't those…?"

"They are." Her mother finally looked at her. "You left these last night without giving them water. I found them this morning and thought I'd give these flowers a little more time before they wilted."

Ino was taken aback, part of the statement didn't sound appropriate. _This morning? What time is it?_ She glanced at the clock and it read, 12:48. _Already?_ Her mother tossed her a small white envelope and it skidded across the table; it stopped at a few inches before the edge. She took it and opened it; previously knowing what it contained, she just bluntly let her eyes roam the cursively written text on the card, an unenthusiastic front shading her face, all the possible heads up for a sign of excitement was nonexistent.

"Who's it from?" Her mother asked finally.

"You didn't read it?" Ino said, not looking up from the card.

"Why would I? It's not for me."

"Then how'd you know it was mine?"

Her mother's face took the form of a more softened expression. "A mother has her ways." It was one of the oldest adages ever used throughout history and she expected her daughter to roll her eyes at it, in consequence of the fact that her mood was off this afternoon, but she didn't. She placed a yellow flower (that was prohibiting a pair of violets to be seen) a little to the right, creating a more harmonious blend. "Who sent it?"

"Anonymous." The reply was bland, almost dismissing.

Her mother fell silent. A moment too long, contemplating her next query. She considered the tone of Ino's last response and took the hint that she either didn't want to discuss it or it didn't matter to her. Nonetheless, she pushed on. "An idea from who, perhaps?"

Ino shook her head. "I don't have the interest to find out, either." Mellow now.

Something's bothering her, her mother mulled, you're just not yourself today, Ino; almost distracted.

This wasn't the first instance Ino had received an item that counted as an expression for admiration from a nameless individual; this was actually the third.

(Too much expression, if Inoichi was asked.)

And each time, Ino would make it her leisure to try to know whom it was from.

Not once was she able to succeed, though. It was maybe because the villagers kept their mouths shut well or she had never questioned the right people. But the chances of the latter reason were slim, considering the villagers' free and frequent interaction with their fellowmen. Everybody knew each other in Konoha.

Ino's mother started to get worried. _Are you fidgeting about something serious?_ She noticed that her daughter's expression had lightened a little bit, not marked by depth any longer. _Or…_

"Is your heart set out on the man you showed around the other day?" She desisted focusing on the flowers and eyed the younger female, changing the subject.

(_This could be why you're uninterested––your mood is still a question, though, but let's leave it like this._)

She maneuvered the topic into a hard turn and she hoped that Ino wouldn't take it the wrong way. Then all of a sudden, she immediately wondered if she could take it back.

Ino was having a flash of Konoha being reduced to cinders, but having heard the query, it popped and she looked at her mother with unfocused eyes, as if not understanding what she had just said and she needed to take some time to absorb its denotation. It was incoherent at first; she didn't remember the incident she was talking about. But when she finally did and was about to speak, her mother waved it off.

"I'm sorry, that's none of my business," she concluded, "you'll talk about it if you choose to." The atmosphere changed. Though she was her parent, she needed to respect her daughter's privacy.

"No, that's… not what I…"

"You're old enough, Ino. Fifteen; and like I said, you'll talk about it when you want to."

That was the end of it. Her mother didn't speak anymore of the matter, and neither did Ino.

Her mother turned to her after a minute or two of silence. "So, what would you like for brunch?" A small grin pulled at the corner of her lips.

Ino generated a pleasing expression in return, "a tuna sandwich will be fine, mom."

Her mother apprehended a moderately restrained falseness––ambiguity––in the curving of the young female's lips.

She wondered if it was possible––and okay––to distrust a smile.

-----

Sipping juice from a small carton, her mind still not apart from her dream, Ino was now heading for the Hokage's office, holding four folders containing information about the condition of the four patients in a comatose, three jounin, one chuunin; they lost against a nukenin from Kumogakure, who had attempted to cross the border of Konoha.

She was almost at the main door when another blond emerged from the inside. His face was drilled into a pout, his hands behind his head, and he was muttering––the typical reaction he unleashed whenever he got a disappointing, low-ranked mission. It's childish, but. She let an amused smile go.

He stopped as soon as he saw her. "A––Ino."

"What are you mad about this time," she had placed her left hand on the curve of her hip and the other was by her side still holding the folders, "Naruto?" She noticed that he wasn't wearing his hitai-ate and his jacket was unbuttoned, revealing his black shirt underneath, printed with a small orange swirl, and a blue necklace that gleamed as it was hit by the sunlight. "Did Tsunade-sama refused you for an A-ra––"

"No! It's much worse," he interrupted, scowling now, "Ero-sennin has information about Akatsuki."

_A-Akatsuki?_ Just the thought of the name made her _feel_ for Naruto; it wasn't pity, something stronger yet weaker at the same time. The first time that feeling emerged was when she had heard about why Uchiha Itachi resurfaced in the village and what had happened, and it developed further when she had overheard Tsunade talking about the aftermath if Akatsuki was to ever have the Kyuubi within their grasp. _Those people…_

"And they wouldn't let me hear it," Naruto turned to face the tower, his hands dropped to his sides, "he's telling Tsunade-no-baa-chan now." A determined glimmer was in his eyes. _I need to know, damn it! I'm the one they're after!_

She was staring at the back of his head when her mind replayed the discussion about Naruto, if the bijuu inside him was to be successfully extracted, between two of the Legendary Sannin.

"Jiraiya, you do know that you will be responsible for Naruto's safety." Godaime said, her voice resolute. She was leaning back on her chair and her face was serious and firm, eyeing him.

"You've told me that for the seventh time today, Tsunade, I'm sure it's in my brain now," he showed an exiguous sad face; his words had an overtone of exasperation, "I'm not senile, y––"

"You're treating this like a joke!" She slammed her fist on the table and there was a fairly audible breaking sound. "You know the outcome if Akatsuki obtains Naruto; they'll purge the Kyuubi and that will––"

Jiraiya raised his hand, stopping her before she uttered anything further. "I know." There was a pause, as if to accentuate the next thing he was going to say. "He'll die."

Ino blinked. Her lungs suddenly felt compressed, heavy; she was drifting into a silent universe. _Naruto will… die?_ Although she never really had a strong bond with him (she disagreed and quarrelled with him a lot, even about minor, unimportant issues), there was still that quiet friendship. There was that time when she helped him shop for his week's supply of food, even though she had to deliver six packets of seeds to a customer. There was that mind-numbing hesitance between them, but there was closeness in a way.

"Hmph!" His lips capsized into a tight frown, communicating displeasure. He turned and started walking away, taking mild, angry strides. "Bye-bye, Ino." He said in a gruff manner. The direction he was heading at was familiar to her; she smiled warmly.

_Ichiraku Ramen._

(Sometimes she wondered what made Ichiraku's ramen so tasty that it appealed to him so much; to her, it never was any different from other brands of ramen.)

She then proceeded inside the entrance of the tower.

The hallway was empty and it smelled of wax and paint. The scent amalgamated and it invaded her nose; she felt her chest squeeze in. She hurriedly came to the stairs and ascended them, her sandals softly thumping against the wooden steps, some creaked under her lightweight. She was waving the folders in front of her face, fanning the chemical stench away from her. When she was at the top step, her windpipe felt vacuous but also filled with a strong smelling gas, she sniffed a little and cleared her throat. She started to walk toward Tsunade's office.

She was about to knock on the brown door when she heard someone murmuring from the other side and was followed by an animal's soft squeal. She steadily rapped on the door gently.

"Come in," came a sharp and adamant voice. _She's in––with Jiraiya-sama._ She turned the knob and pushed the door open. She was expecting to see the Hokage and a white-haired toad master but instead she saw Shizune, standing near a maroon shelf, her back turned to her, reading a document.

"Shizune-san?" She uttered incredulously, a concerned look on her face. _I'm sure the person I heard was…_ She shook the concept away. "Um… Shizune-san?"

The dark haired woman didn't face her. "Yes, yes––I'm sorry, I'm quite busy and… where did I…?" She walked toward the desk that was messed up with papers, stamps, unopened inkbottles, folders, and clips. A paper slipped down behind Tonton. "I apologize for the disorganized sight." She managed an uneasy laugh.

"It's alright," she walked toward the table, taking the fallen piece of paper. "Um… where's Tsunade-sama?" She asked, handing it to her and looking around the office.

"Tsunade-sama? She's in the meeting room with Jiraiya-sama, did you need something from her?" She asked as she filed the paper Ino handed to her.

"Well, these are the files from the hospital she wanted." Ino said, showing her the brown folders, each pinned with a red piece of paper on the upper right corner. "Comatose patients."

"These are urgent then," she took it and read its contents. There was a purple check mark on one of the files; only one thing came to mind: A multiplying virus due to poisoning. _I need to get this to the higher-ups._ She read some of the examination results and then arranged them inside their respective folders. "I need to go."

"Eh? Why––? I can just––"

"Do you have anything else to do this afternoon, Ino?" Shizune was halfway to the door, Tonton was following close behind.

"Well… no, but––" Her face turned into worry.

"Then if it's no trouble, would it be alright if you categorized everything here. I'm sorry, but this is urgent…" She grabbed the doorknob, waited for Tonton to cross the door, and looked at the young blonde.

"A––lright." Her voice suddenly held back. "It's fine, Shizune-san."

"There's some Polvoron on the table; take some if you want."

With that, the door closed, but not before Ino heard a slight _thank you_. She sighed. She now gazed at the disorderly table, then her sight trailed to the window, noticing that the sun was reaching its peak. She then focused on her assigned task and got to work.

There was one black (deceased; M), one blue (missions; B-rank), and five brown (profiles; each one had the first three letters of a surname printed on the front) folders. She first started to search for the papers that were supposed to be under the black folder; she started to read each one; she gathered the ones she needed and placed the others, the ones she didn't need just yet, aside. She went over some of the names: _Miura, Makoto, Masato, Moroboshi…_

She placed them inside the folder temporarily and fumbled through some more of the papers to see if she missed anything; she would arrange them alphabetically later on.

After that was done, she reached for the brown folders and started to rummage through the papers once again to place them in their right category (either in San, Aji, Tai, Ono, or Ued). It was fairly easy to classify.

Exactly thirty-seven minutes, and more or less five seconds, passed, the sun was at its highest point, and she was done. Although the folders have been filled, there were still papers that were on the table; they didn't fall under any of the seven folders; most of them were stamped under reports, some were jail and prisoner records. She stretched, feeling her bones becoming alive again, she yawned. Her eyes dropped on the bowl full of Polvoron candies; she took one, unwrapped it from its bright orange cellophane wrapper, and took a bite.

She grabbed the _Ono_ folder and placed it between _Oka_ and _Sakata_, on the fourth level of the shelf. She turned to the table again and grabbed the _Aji_ folder. She was about to stuff it in when she noticed that there was no space for it to fit or to squeeze in. The _Aji_ folder was pretty thick and bulky, too. _I had no idea that there were a number of people who had _Aji_ as the first two syllables of their surname._

She placed the folder down on the floor and stared at the shelf, deciding to take some thin ones off from it and replace them after she had shoved the _Aji_ folder in. She nodded, taking the idea into account. At first she thought of reconsidering; maybe she could just push the row of files to the side to make room, but when she tried, there was only a little gap––an inadequate slot. She let out a breath and grabbed a random folder to slide out. She pulled it out and something came along with it; a red folder flopped to the ground, some of the papers from inside it peeked out. She stooped down and picked it up; her eyes then shifted with interest as she read its label. It wasn't clipped with a piece of paper that had three letters written on it, a _name_ was written.

暁.

Akatsuki.

_Their archive._

Her mind was suddenly blank for a moment, but was then restored.

The folder wasn't fat, nor was it too thin. She brought it to the table and scrutinized its outer shell. The red folder was obviously new, the edges weren't folded and the surface wasn't scratched. Compelled to read its contents, she lifted the flap slowly; she felt a rousing desire for lore. All these years, the only person she knew who was a member of the organization was Sasuke's older brother. She knew that the organization's goal was to capture all the bijuu and use its limitless capabilities for their immoral and corrupt desires.

That wasn't enough. _I know so little._ This was a chance, an opportunity given to her for a purpose, and she would grab it, know more and help the next time they come to Konoha and try to take Naruto––just if. _I will._

She fully turned the flap and saw that the first page was comprised of a picture of a man with blue skin and small round eyes, and information about him. She read the name: Hoshigaki Kisame.

_Nukenin from Kirigakure. Former member of The Seven Swordsmen of the Mist. Wanted for sabotage, government annulment, assassination of… a feudal lord!_

She read a little note at the bottom: Partnered with Uchiha Itachi. She noticed that his profile had a second page, stapled at the top left corner; she flipped it over. The page beneath had a detailed description of him, jutsu he could use, and his background. She didn't read too thoroughly and proceeded to the next one.

The following profile had a sketch of a strange looking man. The left side of his face was shaded, but the right half remained white. He also had Venus flytrap leaves extruding from either side of him. According to the information, he was a Kusagakure nukenin.

Ino had a skeptical look on her face, _that's it? This is all they know about this guy?_ She also noted that there wasn't a second page. She then moved on to the third member: Uchiha Itachi. She counted the papers stapled together; there were four. Figures, Itachi was from Konoha, it wasn't shocking if his biography was written here, or at least part of it. She didn't bother to read everything, just a few pointers.

(Little did she know that if she continued to the next record, her mind would go numb; Deidara's dossier was next––and a sketch of him was provided as a bonus inside.)

_The Uchiha Clan's pride._ She set his file down and took––

The door clicked and slowly swung open, disturbing her from her analysis, and she turned her head toward it. Shizune stood by the door, relief washing over her face. Her forehead was lightly beaded with sweat and she was holding a tray of hot tea; its fresh smell filled the room. Tonton was looking at Ino. Shizune sighed. "She isn't here yet." The blonde stood in wonder, not understanding. Shizune took a good look at the desk and saw that it was somewhat clean and organized; she smiled. "Thank you for your help, Ino," she said, walking in and pushing the door close with her shoulder, "I really appreciate it." She settled the tray on the table, a little away from the files.

"It was no problem at all." Ino replied. Tonton stood by the shelves and then lied down.

Shizune started pouring tea on the cups. "Would you like some?" She offered her a cup.

"Thank you." Ino thought that a little drink would get her refreshed. "I'm sorry I couldn't finish everything up." She took a sip.

"No need to apologize, you did a fine job," Shizune took the Akatsuki folder, arranged the files inside, and closed it.

Tonton had begun his nap.

And Ino still didn't know about Deidara's true identity.

-----

Ino walked the streets in a petty daze; a flash of her nightmare occurred to her a few minutes after she had exited the Hokage tower and it made her uneasy once again. For some reason, the smile of the faceless man in her dream bothered her. And so did what he said.

_There will be chaos._

She felt like she knew him (and something told her that they have met), but she couldn't put a face on him; his voice was uncharacteristic, though it sounded all too familiar although distant. She wondered if anything that happened in her dream had any meaning at all; frankly, she didn't think it held any significance.

(Overall, why did she have the dream in the first place?)

Her head was slightly stooped, looking at her path, her feet going _left-right-left-right_. She was caught up in her reminiscing and wasn't attentive enough, and it resulted into her bumping someone's back. Quite forcibly; her nose hurt. A plastic bag containing a box dropped and the person nearly stumbled forward.

"I'm so sorry," she said, rubbing her nose, "I wasn't paying attention and––ouch…"

The person turned around and took a good look at her. "Ino?" The voice was of a male's, deep but moderated.

_That voice._ She raised her head and looked the man straight in the eye; she recognized him right away. "Deidara-san!" His visible blue eye curiously scanned hers, vivid and ardent, but a muted seriousness––that was leaning toward irritation––was there. Bit by bit, she started to become beguiled, drawn in by his alluring, yet oddly enough, eluding gaze. She suddenly recalled her fault. "I––I'm sorry… I…" She bent and grabbed the handle of the white plastic bag she caused him to drop (an excuse to break eye contact and to mitigate the beating of her heart) and raised it up. The scent of warm, fresh, cookies wafted from the brown bag inside.

Deidara was holding a chocolate cookie in his right hand, his pointer finger and thumb clamping it. His mouth was chewing and she could hear crunching. His eyes then moved toward the plastic bag (his head turned the slightest bit) when she held it out. "Oh," he started in between chews, "thank you." He took it with his left hand, the handle wrapping around and barely denting his fingers due to its weight. He swallowed and took another bite, crumbs fell.

I didn't think he favored sweets, she thought, looking at him––to the plastic bag––then to the cookie.

He noticed her staring at his sweet treat––his food––and he gave her a questioning look. Thinking that she wanted one, he let one of the handles of the bag drop, its opening widened, a gesture of an offer. He swallowed what he was eating. "Go on, take one… un."

What he said startled her. "Eh?" She blurted, jerking her head up, the same questioning look crossing her face. "E––No," she raised her hands to deny the offer, "that's… it's alright." Apparently, I'm misunderstood, she mused.

"Hmm?" It came out sounding quite disappointed; he then got the handle he loosed and settled it in his hand.

She let her hands fall to her sides. "Funny; you don't appear like a man who's fond of sweets," she managed a small smile. A comfortable ambience was settling (but somehow, it didn't feel welcoming).

His eyebrow raised, the comment was unexpected. He innocently looked at the bag and waved the assumption off, shaking his head. "This? It was just a giveaway from that store." He pointed to a shop with a sign hanging on the door that said, _Homemade Special: __FREE BATCH__ (cookies)_. Surely enough there was a line composed of mostly children and mothers––with grocery bags hanging in their hand and their child by their side. "The lady said _I looked like I needed it._" He bit off a portion of the cookie. "Sure you don't want any?" He inquired once more.

She nodded. "Anyway, I didn't see you around yesterday." She tried to change the subject, not wanting to be offered anymore of the sweet treats she avoided like the plague due to her not wanting to lose her figure––especially not now that Deidara was here, in the village.

There was a stutter in his response. "Ye––yeah. Didn't see you yesterday, either." He lied. "Busy?"

"No, not really." She snuck her hand inside her pocket and pulled out a white handkerchief designed with an embroidered blue flower and her name below it. She folded it into a certain angle.

Without a warning, she slowly raised it and wiped it on the side of his lips. "A––" Bewilderment was heavily obvious in his face. He froze, an awkward situation.

"Seriously," Ino started, "can't men eat decently? You have crumbs on you." She then lowered her hand, folded the cloth, and tucked it inside her pocket again. _Score!_

_What a tease you are, Ino._ He touched the place where she rubbed the handkerchief on, feeling if there were any more of the crumbs left. The white cloth was pure fragrance. It smelt of _luxuries_. "I guess it's a man's tactic to get a woman closer to him, un." _I can be one, too, you know._ He smiled.

Ino blushed. He noticed; _score._

(How cute; _how cute._)

Deidara then tilted his head upwards, examining the condition of the day. _Quite late already._ The sun was still bright and beaming, its rays peeking out of the clouds that obscured it, but it was gradually preparing to set. "Want to take a walk with me, Ino?" He asked, not looking at her; his tone was flat and his face was passive.

"Well…" She said tentatively, thinking if she had anything else to do for the day; nothing popped up. "I guess so––sure."

He lowered his head. "You sure you have nothing to do?" He asked, as if he knew what she just thought of.

She felt excited. "I'm certain."

"Alright then," he murmured. "Do you want to just roam around?" He took a bite of the cookie, finishing it. He then shook out his hands, briskly running his fingertips into one another––as if dusting––removing the tiny bits of the cookie. He looked at his shirt to see if any of the cookie's particles fell and have adhered onto it.

She shrugged. "It's alright with me, is it with you?"

"It is."

-----

It was a little past four when they exited the _Shiritsu no Hare_, one of the few middle-class restaurants in Konoha––Deidara proposed that they stop by a restaurant, when he unexpectedly felt his stomach rumble, for an early dinner; he treated her. The food served in there were a tad bit pricey, but affordable, nonetheless. The streets were now flooded with an orange light and the wind had gotten stale and clement. In a few minutes, the streetlights were going to turn on. As both of them walked juxtaposed with each other, she couldn't help but notice Deidara's contemplative look. He was deep in thought, as if he was analyzing his next move, next step.

(_Planning?_)

"What's wrong, Deidara-san?" His features didn't change. "Everything alright?"

"Everything's fine," he stopped walking and scratched the back of his head in slight––all feigned––annoyance, frustration, and exasperation. "It's just that…" A pause. A crucial moment for him. _Relay your words carefully, don't give yourself away._ He straightened himself up, standing firmer; Ino stared at him. "You see, I went to the library yesterday; I was looking for a newly published book––just published two weeks ago, un."

She nodded.

"But the librarian said they didn't have the copy yet, which is weird because––"

"Nearly _everything_ is shipped to Konoha, right?" Slyness was heavily indicated in her words, albeit not on purpose.

He didn't say anything, but it was evident in his face that he agreed.

Due to Konoha being a powerful village, several _suppliers_ chose it to be the center of profit; strong country, big money. The so-called _suppliers_ always made it a point that their products were of excellent condition and were prompt in deliveries, or it would be a demerit from their standards. Even though Konoha could cut out connection with them due to instability conditions, or for any other reason, the association between them could be rebuilt at any time. (What advantage.) More than thirty _supplying businesses_ have an affiliation with the village.

"Who was the author?" She asked.

(Turning point.)

"Jiraiya––sama." The old man was respected in the village, and he figured that since he was an outsider, he needed to use an honorific for the Legendary Sannin––though personally, he really didn't care. A village's well-loved man, hero, or leader was to be revered by a foreigner if he was in their territory; the land's customs must be followed. Ino's face was now unclear, slightly confused, and amused. Conflicting. He thought, _does everybody do that when they hear_ Jiraiya_?  
_

"Jiraiya-sama?" She said, thinking doubtfully––_he couldn't possibly be looking for the _Icha Icha_ series, those books are all over the village_. Deidara eyed her. "Well, maybe the book you're looking for _is_ here, but isn't in the public library yet," she directed her vision to the Hokage tower.

"What do you mean?" He felt like he was getting closer to his goal, and he knew that the closer he got, the more caution he needed to have and take. And to apply. _Don't blow it._

When she spoke again, her voice was scantily above a whisper, a murmur, its deliberateness was obvious to him, not meant for him––or anyone nearby––to hear or understand. "Tsunade-sama has a library… no, Tsunade-sama has _three_ libraries inside the tower––"

"_Three?_" He heard.

(Shit, she mentally spat at herself.)

The kunoichi turned to him and nodded quite uneasily. "Large ones, actually." Deidara was silent, waiting for her to say more, but she didn't. _I don't think it's in there, though._ She pleaded to whoever was listening to her thoughts that he wouldn't press or expand the subject.

He didn't.

_The books stored inside there must be confidential._ Deidara was pleased, already plotting. _Perfect._

She tried to change the course of the conversation, her voice barely giving it all away. "What's the title? Maybe I can help yo––"

"No, never mind. I can wait until I get back to Iwa, un." He faked an appreciative smile. "I'll order it from there."

Her mind rushed back, rewound to her dream. _That… smile._ Again, she felt horrified; a simulacrum of the smile that belonged to the faceless man. She pushed the image away, not wanting to be caught stupefied by the person in front of her. "Okay then."

_Thanks for the information, Ino. You've been useful._

-----

Night was falling.

Deidara now headed toward the inn, the Shoda Inn, his temporary home, alone. Ino had to leave him, having to report to Tsunade regarding the files she delivered earlier, but she simply said that she had an errand to attend to. His eye gleamed as the light of the streetlamps hit it and he had an awry curve at the end of his lips, contented with his fabricated story and at how smoothly he pretended about it. He turned to the Hokage tower that was to his left and used the scope he had to look at the red edifice marked with the kanji of _fire_. The wind blew and his fringe brushed away, fully exposing the mechanism on his eye. He looked past the topmost window and saw no one; it was semi-darkness inside. He turned away and proceeded, rethinking his next approach.

He knew he would be the very first suspect if he stole the book _right after_ acquiring the information; Ino would obviously point her finger at him––_this had never happened until you had known about it!_ It was risky, but not passable. He had been in Konoha for far too long and he hypothesized that Pein was becoming impatient in each passing day he still wasn't back. Although, he figured that it would be the same even if he prolonged the inevitable betrayal he was bound to commit; he took the book, without a trace went missing the next day (and forevermore), everything would lead to him. No difference.

_It starts… and ends tonight._

And all he needed to have was patience.

-----

As darkness took over the skies of Konoha, lights inside houses were extinguished, curtains were drawn, and doors were locked. The night surveillance group came up and got to the high walls that surrounded the village with binoculars and wireless radios. Other shinobi took their place in the guard-stand. Later on, hour-by-hour street inspections were to be carried out. The leaves of the trees and bushes swayed as the invisible hand of the wind caressed by. The smell of incoming rain was dramatically increasing, the wind had started to become chilly.

"If it doesn't rain tonight," a chuunin who was on top of the village walls said, "it'll pour tomorrow morning." _Heavy._

"I hope it pours tomorrow then. Don't want to get soaked." Another chuunin beside him said, placing the black binoculars against his eyes and sneaking a bite at his sandwich. (He was successful.)

A cloud allowed a drop of rain to fall.

It hit a leaf and slid down to the ground.

Nothing else came down.

-----

11:12 PM.

Silence. Walking. It's dark.

Deidara treaded one of the lonely roads of Konoha in the shadows, avoiding the lights of the streetlamps. A jounin just passed him eight minutes ago, shining a flashlight at every nook and corner. He hid in an alley, behind a stand of large, used, cardboard boxes. He let a few minutes by and then continued on his way. He was just a few meters away from the tower and he could already feel accomplishment, triumph. He couldn't wait to take whatever it was he needed and just flee from the village.

(His instincts told him it was too easy; or maybe the patrollers were just lacking, _really badly_.)

Little stones and pebbles rolled under his feet as he walked. He used his scope to scan the circular blockage, as well as the entryway––first base––of the Hokage tower and the surrounding area and saw no one there.

When he got to the entrance of the barricade, he suddenly tensed up when the leaves of a tree behind him rustled.

A brown cat ran out. He stared, dumbfounded, at the running fur ball and after a while, released the breath he held out of relief. He loosened his grip from the kunai (wrapped in black cloth) that was inside his pocket and moved on. The doorway was sealed. He tried to push open the closed wooden doors but failed due to it being locked from the inside. He gazed at the tower, all the windows were dark and black; he gazed around, nobody. He closed his eyes and tried to sense a trace of chakra.

There was none. Null.

He observed the setting of his surroundings thoroughly. There were no tall nearby trees he could climb up to assist him in leaping over the walls to gain access inside. The barricade was too high to clamber on. Forcing the doors to open would be too noisy. "One option left… un." He said to himself. The mouth on his right hand started chewing clay. He then formed it into an eagle when it was prepared and was about to set it on the ground to increase its size when his body stopped moving. He froze, all his limbs were immovable, all his muscles weren't responding. _What the hell?_ Deidara heard a grumble to his far left. He wanted to turn his head but he couldn't.

"Oi. What do you think you're doing there?" Came a voice that sounded so flat and monotonous. He heard footsteps getting closer.

_Shit!_

Deidara crushed the clay sculpture and fed it back to the mouth in his hand, concealing it. His hand then involuntarily went to his head and scratched lazily. The man's chakra was imperceptible. The footsteps stopped and he found himself turning to face the other person without his command.

He came face to face with Shikamaru.

Shikamaru looked surprised. "You…" He didn't release him just yet.

Deidara flinched unnoticeably and felt alarmed. _God, not him._ He felt sweat starting to form on his nape. (It was actually quite amazing that they recognized each other right away although it was dark.) _Alright, what's my excuse for being here?_ He managed to calm down enough to think safely, sharply, and clearly. He swallowed, feeling nervous.

Shikamaru's hands were now inside his pockets and he was eyeing him, as if to confirm who he really was. He noted his features and then he was sure. _No doubt about it; Deidara._ He suddenly wondered if he got the name right. He let out an inaudible groan. "Deidara," he didn't care for an honorific, his presence here, _at this hour_, was suspicious, "why are you here?" There was an attenuated warning in his voice.

"A bell. It woke me up."

"What bell?"

"A sound coming from the tower, un." He concealed the irritation he felt for the other shinobi.

Shikamaru looked at the tall and dark architecture, scrutinizing it for a movement of any sort and straining his ear to listen. After a moment he responded to the hanging statement, but he didn't look at the blond. "I don't hear anything."

"I'm still hearing it." Just boggle him, he thought. "It's coming from…" He paused. "No. The sound just shifted; it's," he paused once more, "going further."

The younger man looked at the radio strapped to his hip. It was silent as it could be, no transmission. "Not one of the squads present at this time––circling the village, patrolling––have reported a––" A crackle. Broken words. He looked at the radio and took it from the strap. He pressed the red _transmit_ button and responded.

(Deidara smirked.)

Shikamaru listened to the information as partial static interfered. The man on the other line said that a strange howling was being heard. First squad was now pursuing it and that there was no need for others to follow; a report would follow on with the validation of the sound's source. "Understood." He replaced the radio and let out an exasperated and tired sigh. Quiet at first and then spoke. "What you've heard wasn't a bell."

Deidara raised an eyebrow––fake. "No?"

"A bell doesn't howl." They stared at each other, contemplating the other one's next action, next statement––and a possible bluff. Shikamaru's shadow then retracted from Deidara's and he could once again move freely without a copy. "We'll handle it here."

(_What a troublesome job Asuma volunteered me for._)

Deidara stretched, feeling that his body had gone to sleep, his back pained a little and his neck felt stiff. "I guess." He turned to his left and headed back, waving a hand of goodbye while he was at it. "Do a good job," he mumbled, but he was already too far for Shikamaru to hear.

_First attempt: __FAILED._

When he got to his room at the inn, he punched the wall out of aggravation. The sound resonated dimly and what felt like a shock wave travelled up his arm, but he didn't feel it. He then let himself fall on the bed, thinking how well and bad the plan went. It was good that he had set a precaution before he had indulged on––an attempt––to finish the mission. A few hours prior to him leaving the inn to head on, he had made a sculpture of an owl and let it fly to the forest, _for backup_. If he were ever caught, he'd make it hoot––or howl, as to what the Konoha ninja heard––by pressing the compressed chakra he placed inside, commanding its actions. The chakra would then drain and the sculpture would turn to dust because it wouldn't be sustained with energy.

The plan went bad because––_why didn't I think that there would be people guarding the tower?_

After much thinking, his mind began to tire and then drifted, his eyes closed, his heart beating slowly as his whole body attained relaxation.

He soon fell asleep. Dreamlessly.

-----

Twenty-seven miles due southeast of Konoha, the leaves from the trees rustled and some danced down toward the ground. Thumping sounds could be heard as sandals stomped heavily and quickly from branch to branch. Barks were chipped off as the owner of the sandals pushed off.

I'm making good time, he thought as he landed down to the ground, observing the area he was at for any signs of concealed shinobi, preparing for an assault. He had been travelling for three hours, taking breaks ever so often, and he was already _here_, nearing Konoha. "I'll be able to reach it by early, tomorrow morning." The wind blew and his long green scarf slightly waved.

With that he jumped off to the next branch, his feet becoming hastier.

The moon took a peek at his face but only a mask was revealed to it.

Most unusual.


End file.
